New Beginnings
by FollowedByImplosion
Summary: Post - Reichenbach, contains OC. After Sherlock's jumps, Adele is left on her own, with mysterious texts and a strange headmaster. Cheesy title, I know. Rated T for swearing and future violence. Enjoy. I insist. Review, if you would like. Please?
1. Chapter 1

'Come on.'

'No.'

'Move.'

'I don't want to.'

'Look, we can stand here for the rest of the day, wallowing in depression, or we can go home and sort everything out'

Adele Holmes had been standing by Sherlock's grave for almost two hours, but she couldn't bring herself to leave. There was something that stopped her every time, and it was slowly destroying her. Adele wasn't Sherlock's daughter, of course. Even she didn't really know how they had ended up together, but since the age of four, she had barley left his side. Until now.

'Five minutes. There's no point staying any longer.' John walked away slowly. As he joined Mrs Hudson some distance away, he shook his head.

'She needs _time_. We all need time. And she's young.' She said softly, as if the last bit had completely solved the matter. John nodded, not in the mood to further the discussion. Whatever was going to happen now, neither of knew. But the concerns over what was going to happen to Adele were already an issue. Sherlock, somehow, was down as her legal guardian and social services were almost definitely to come knocking any day. Keeping Adele in the dark about this was crucial; if she were to find out, she would almost certainly devise a scheme, which would almost definitely involve something illegal.

Just as John surfaced from his thoughts, a rustle of leaves alerted him to Adele's reappearance. Mrs Hudson placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and steered her through the gates, and into the waiting taxi, which seemed to be following them wherever they went. Of course, it would be foolish to assume that it was _planned_, or that Sherlock had organised it, but, then again, no one could be sure.

Once back at flat 221b, Adele simply walked to her room, not bothering to take, or kick off her shoes as usual, or to throw her jacket over the chair. As she turned the corner, she noticed that John had avoided the chair that Sherlock had normally taken up, opting to sit in the one opposite. Not knowing what to think of this, she continued on her way, and, once entering her bedroom, she threw herself onto her bed.

The room was plain, with virtually no colour or emotion. One bed, pushed against the wall. Next to it sat a bedside cabinet, and across the room a desk and a chair. The walls were painted grey, and the carpet was only a shade lighter. When lit, the room looked hardly more friendly than when not, and so Adele had got into the habit of not bothering to turn the light on, saving both effort and unneeded light.

The two days since Sherlock's death had inched by, almost cruelly, allowing the few who knew him to suffer as much as possible. Adele had avoided thinking of it as _suicide_. She still had a suspicion that there was something sneaky going on, but she didn't want to think about it. Except, of course, what else could she think about? No cases, no guessing what stupid scheme Sherlock had planned, no telling him to either get some Violin lessons or stop playing, no nothing. The flat was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Nobody bothered trying to make conversation, and the lack of anything to do was slowly destroying her. There was no point going out for fresh air, because the press were pretty slow in taking the hint and leaving.

By now Adele could smell something from the kitchen. Presumably Mrs Hudson had gone back to her flat, and John was cooking. Adele had been avoiding conversation by getting to the living room before anything was ready, as to avoid speaking to John. This wasn't out of cruelty, but instead out of fear. If she started talking, the conversation could easily turn to Sherlock, which was the last thing she wanted.

Slowly, she pulled herself up from the floor, giving herself a few seconds to adjust to standing up again. John looked up as she entered the room, and gave her a small smile, which she returned. Just as John turned off the oven, there was a knock at the door. He sighed, and jogged downstairs to answer it. He returned in a matter of seconds, bring with him three people whom Adele had never seen before.

'Couldn't this wait? We were just about to eat.' Asked John

'I'm afraid not. This is a matter of the utmost concern; it really has to be addressed now. We have other matters to attend to.' Adele's eyes flickered over to the man who had spoken. He was tall and powerfully built, and wore a suit. Next to him stood a woman, who was small, but to Adele she seemed to be in a position of authority. Another man stood behind them, and acted almost as a body guard, scanning the room, with an earpiece and briefcase.

'Well alright, but It'll have to be quick.'

The taller man beckoned o the other, who set the briefcase on the table. From it, the taller one produced a sheet of paper, and slid it across the table towards John, who didn't bother to even glance at it.

'Well? What is it?'

The woman turned to Adele, who glared at her. Whatever she was about to ask, it wasn't going to be an easy question to answer.

'Who would you say is your guardian? Who looks after you? Your own opinion.'

'Well, several people have fulfilled that role over the years, to be quite honest. John. Mrs Hudson. And – '

She paused for a minute. She hadn't mentioned his name for two days.

'Sherlock'

'And legally? If you know, of course.'

'As a matter of fact I do. But it was all just a piece of paper, isn't it?' She smirked. 'But legally, it was Sherlock.'

'Then you will understand the reason for our presence. Your legal guardian –'

'Sherlock. He has - _had_ a name, funnily enough'

'Is dead. So, as of about two days ago, your exact position has been a matter of debate for us.'

'Why can't I stay here?'

'If there were documents approving that, such as a will, then there would be no problems. We would have left long ago. Or not turned up here at all. But there are no documents. No verification.'

'So?' It was John who spoke now. He sounded different, almost scared.

'Well, she can't stay here. As I have said, we don't have any documents.'

'What are you going to do then?' Adele asked. She had a feeling that whatever the answer, it wasn't going to do anyone any good.

'You're coming with us. We have a new home for you, not too far away.' Amazingly, she hadn't changed her tone, which would be expected in such a situation.

Home. Not house, home.

'And if I don't want to?'

'You have no choice in the matter.'

'One day.' John said. 'Just let her stay one day. To say goodbye.'

'Not possible. It's all been sorted.'

Silence.

'You have half an hour. Then we'll be back.'

They left. As soon as the door shut, Mrs Hudson walked in.

'What was that all about?' She asked, oblivious to the whole ordeal.

'Half an hour. Then I have to go.'

'Go where?'

'With them. For good.' With that, Adele walked to her room, footsteps heavy. Ten years, and now she was never coming back. And then it hit her.

She would have to go to school. Before, Sherlock had said he home-schooled her, and no one had ever questioned it. And now, she would have to go to a school. She knew everything already, how could she not? Living with Sherlock had ensured that.

Adele pulled various pieces of clothing from the chest of drawers, throwing them savagely into a bag. She tossed in a couple of books, and zipped up the bag. A brief glance around the room, and she left, closing the door gently. For the last time.

Upon her arrival in the living room, John stood up.

'It'll be fine. We can meet up. Wherever you're going.' He scribbled down a phone number.

'Don't call, text. Anytime.'

He seemed on the verge of tears, so he sat down again. In what seemed to be five minutes, they were back again. A quick hug, and Adele was ferried out of the door, and into a car. As it pulled away, she looked back at the flat.

Goodbye.


	2. Chapter 3

'…and this is your room' Concluded Ms Daines.

Adele could see that she meant well, of course, but she couldn't justify it. This hadn't exactly been the best few days, and her voice hinted that she knew that.

'Something wrong?' She asked

Adele paused before she spoke:

'It's _happy_.'

'Well, it should be. Happy is nice. Why would you not like happy?' Her voice was so patronising. One of these days, Adele would have to stop herself from wringing her neck.

'Forget it…' She couldn't be bothered to make up anything. It was 9'o'clock, and she didn't care about any of the rubbish she was being told. Of course, no one was having that, and the idiots that had pretty much ruined her life even more had told her that on no uncertain terms was she to cause any trouble. Well, the real words had been: 'No funny business.', but what she thought of as funny business probably differed largely from anyone else. Of course, she hadn't agreed, so there was potential mayhem involved.

'I'll, er, leave you to get settled in then.' She let, leaving Adele alone in the room. As soon as she was sure she had gone, she kicked off her shoes, and pulled her phone from her bag.

'_Don't call, text. Anytime.'_

Shaking, she pulled the paper John had given her earlier from her pocket. She had a number stored under his name, so why he had given her this one, she had no idea. Still she punched the number in, almost savagely, as though in doing so she would accomplish some further goal. As soon as it was added, she turned the phone off.

No one decided to check on her for at least an hour, in which time she had done nothing but thrown her bag under the bed, and placed the picture from her old room onto the table. Looking at it, a lump formed in her throat, and she forced herself not to cry. Weakness. Not an option.

She pulled on her night clothes, but instead of getting into bed, she turned her phone back on. A soon as she did so was there a problem. Only a third of battery let, and that meant about two hours, with no internet or games. Swearing, probably too loudly, she threw herself onto the floor, crawled under the bed, and threw almost everything out of her bag. No charger.

As Adele was doing so, she hadn't realised that Ms Daines had decided to appear at the door.

'What's wrong?' She asked, her voice becoming more and more annoying as she spoke. Adele chose simply to glare at her, but this bored her after only two seconds.

'Phone charger. I left it at home.' Adele tried to make her voice rough, or at least sound a bit pissed off, but instead she sounded helpless and tired.

'Well, you can always go and get it tomorrow. I'll take you over there.'

'I can go myself. I'm fourteen years of age. I think I can take the tube a couple of stops.' Urgh. Couldn't she let her go somewhere on her own?

'Hmmm… I suppose, if you really want to you can. How long will you be?'

'Whole day, probably. I have people to see. This – ' She gestured around the room. 'Was all a bit unexpected, and I actually had plans for the evening. Some people get annoyed if you don't turn up somewhere with no proper explanation and such. So I'm not sure.'

'Just don't take too long, you have to get uniform for school as well. You start the day after tomorrow.'

'Fine.'

As soon as she left, Adele grabbed her phone, making to text John.

But what could she say?

In the end, she decided to keep it short:

_Hate it here, but what would you expect? Left phone charger, coming over tomorrow to get it, will you be in? Never gave you back the key, so if not I can let myself in._

Two minutes later, the annoying light in the top right hand corner of the phone started to flash. A message:

_Of course I'll be in! Will you be alone? How long can you stay? _

She typed a reply:

_Will be alone, and can stay for a few hours. Have to go, no battery left. See you tomorrow._

She turned off the phone, and began to visualise her route; From Hammersmith station, which she had seen on her way over, it was a straight forward twenty one minute journey on the Hammersmith and City line towards Edgware Road, and then a quick walk. Home.

But leaving the second time would be worse than the first. Because this time, she knew she would have to. Unlike the last, when she only knew half an hour before, this would be hanging over her for the whole day.


	3. Chapter 4

Adele woke up to the incredibly annoying noise of her phone going off right next to her ear. Swearing, she silenced it, and checked what the problem was;

_Have fun, and try not to annoy anyone._

_SH_

This was getting ridiculous. Sherlock was dead, this was obvious. He wasn't coming back, and it was stupid to think so. If someone had taken his phone as a joke, she wasn't seeing the funny side; Also, Sherlock had thrown his phone aside before he jumped. It had been brought down as evidence, and then given to John, who in turn had given it to –

Her.

Swearing loudly once again, Adele grabbed her back from by the bed, and tipped it over. The days since the phone had been given to her had passed so quickly that she couldn't be sure of exactly when she had lost it. How _stupid_. She had managed to lose her last connection to Sherlock, the last thing he touched before he died, and she would never get it back now. The texts were coming from Sherlock's number, this was certain. And whoever had the phone knew exactly what was going on, and more importantly, they _texted_ like Sherlock. Sarcastic, but friendly at the same time, and the initials 'SH' at the end

Even without all this, whoever had the phone would still have to guess Sherlock's password, which was easier said than done. Sherlock had always taken the security of his phone incredibly seriously, and not just anyone could break into his phone. The only conclusion Adele could draw rom this was that either Sherlock had risen from the dead, which was unlikely, or hadn't died at all, which was also unlikely, considering that she had seen the corpse and sat right by it in the morgue for hours (Molly didn't seem to mind, she had run off every five minutes because she was crying), and when Sherlock had landed on the pavement, she had made completely sure he was unconscious before he was carried away. Sherlock had suffered from an incredibly large head wound, so large that the blood had straightened his curly hair, which was definitely a sign of either dead or brain damage.

Well, she had an entire day to think about it, and considering that she would have nothing better to do at this awful school place, using the day productively was an excellent idea. Throwing some paper, her Parker fountain pen and her phone into her bag, Adele dressed and left the room, not bothering to see if she had forgotten anything. She had a feeling that schools frowned upon using phones in the classroom, but that would only be a minor setback. She would find a solution relatively quickly and with minimal effort. Sherlock had made sure of that, asking her opinion at almost every chance he got. Only Lestrade seemed to have let her speak, the rest of the officials preferring to remind Sherlock that Adele was under eighteen, and shouldn't really be allowed on a crime scene anyway. They had also suggested that crime scenes weren't the best way for a child to grow up, to which Sherlock had either told them that it was perfectly reasonable to take children to crime scenes, and that it was all a learning experience, or if that failed, he shut the door in their face.

Upon arriving down stairs, Adele was greeted by Ms Danies making toast. As she opened the fridge, Adele noticed an absence of anything interesting, unlike back at home in Baker Street. At home, you didn't open the fridge without finding a bag of thumbs, several jars of blood, or one of Sherlock's most memorable experiments, a severed head. Here, you found normal food, which, in Adele's opinion, was incredibly dull. Sherlock was right, normal people really were boring.

Instead of acknowledging Ms Daines, Adele walked straight into the hall, which was obviously not what Ms Daines had been expecting.

'Don't you want to eat breakfast?'

'No.'

'Do you know where you're going?'

'Yes.'

'How?'

'I resided with Sherlock Holmes, and he taught me to analyse my surroundings as I travel. Also, you've pinned directions to that notice board. I'm sure I can find it easily enough. Goodbye, and no I don't know what time I'll be back, I'm going somewhere afterwards.'

'Where?'

'Guess.'

And with that, Adele walked out, thinking hard. She hadn't actually told John she would be at Baker Street tonight, so it would probably do to alert him. Pulling out her phone, she typed out a quick text;

_Will you be at the flat later? _

He replied within a minute;

_Yes, I'm guessing we'll be seeing you at some point during the day?_

Grinning for the first time in days, Adele replied;

_Correct_

When she got to the school, Adele decided that there was no point going in straight away. Instead, she scanned the crowd, trying to pick out anything remotely interesting. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything to see, so she went in, only to be stopped by one of the teachers.

'Are you new?' He asked. Adele could immediately tell that he had been looking for her, and that he had very specific instructions for when he met her.

'Maybe. Maybe not.'

'Well, I'll assume that's a yes. Follow me.'

Adele could hardly see the point of all this. Schools were hardly friendly looking places, and people around her were clearly ignorant and stupid. Of course, she could tell that saying this to anyone would be a particularly stupid idea, so made the decision to keep herself hidden, but at the same time challenge anyone she spoke to.

'Now this is where it gets interesting. There isn't much data about you logged on the school system, not even a surname. Might you enlighten me?' This man really was stupid. Well, it might be more fun to annoy him anyway.

'I'll presume you hear of Sherlock Holmes?'

'Yes.'

'And of the incident which occurred approximately four days ago?'

'Yes.'

'And your aware of the girl he was always seen with, age fourteen, black hair, looked a bit like him, as described by the papers?'

'Yes.'

God, he really was thick. Sighing, Adele pointed at herself, hoping that he would take the hint.

'Adele Holmes?'

'Correct.'

'Well that was never mentioned. I thought you lived in Baker Street, with John Watson?'

'Well, I was forced to live over here by the absence of a will stating that I could continue to reside there. I prefer not to give any further details, but I have never been to school before and I have a feeling that the school will want my surname changed. For legal reasons.'

'Give me a minute.' The man walked away, leaving Adele to her thoughts. Well, he would have, had he not returned so soon.

'Over here.'

Adele followed him into an office, where a woman was sitting behind a computer.

'You were completely right. The school has changed your surname. Would you like to know why?'

'No I don't. Can I go now?'

There was a knock on the door, and a girl with brown hair and almost perfect uniform walked in. Adele immediately decided that she didn't like her.

'Eliza is going to show you around, and look after you for your first week here. Now you can go.'

'Adele turned on her heel and left, walking into the grounds. As soon as she was outside, she checked her phone. No more texts from Sherlock's number, but then again, the texts seemed to be occurring once a day, and she had already had one this morning.

'I'd put that away, if I were you. Phones aren't allowed, one of the teachers will take it off you.'

Adele turned around to see that Eliza was following her.

'It's my phone.'

'That won't stop them. Were you allowed phones at your old school?'

'I didn't go to school. This is quite a recent development. I prefer crime scenes.'

'What are you talking about?'

Adele turned to face her.

'I'll assume you know about the…incident which occurred approximately four days ago? Sherlock Holmes? And I'll also assume that you are aware of the fourteen year old girl that was almost always seen with him?'

'Yes, but…bloody hell, you're not…?'

'You lot are quite slow, aren't you? Yes I was, and or legal issues I'm stuck here and can't do anything about it.'

'I'm sorry about what happened to Sherlock… Are you like, his daughter or something?'

'For God's sake, everyone asks that. I don't _think_ I'm actually related to him or anything, but it doesn't matter, because I've lived with him for almost as long as I can remember.'

A bell rang, and people started going inside. Sighing, Adele pocketed her phone, and followed Eliza to what she assumed was their classroom. As soon as she entered the room, yet another teacher came over to her. Eliza explained whilst Adele scanned the room. She couldn't really learn much about her classmates from this, which was strange, because normally she was rather good at that. As with earlier, it may have been a side effect of Sherlock's death, but it was annoying and not being able to analyse people as Sherlock had taught her wasn't good. She was going to be incredibly bored now.

'There's a space on Eliza's table, you can sit there.' The teacher's badly timed speech jolted her out of her thoughts. If that had happened to Sherlock he would have yelled at her to leave so he could g to his 'mind palace'. Nonetheless, Adele followed Eliza to her seat, and sat down, glaring around the room. Everyone had decided to stare, which was more than a bit annoying. Adele caught parts of conversation;

'Is she that Holmes kid?'

'Nah, can't be…'

'Yeah, but after that thing a few days ago…'

'Who does she think she is anyway, not even wearing proper uniform…'

Adele supressed the urge to tell them that yes she was '_that Holmes kid'_, and that she wasn't wearing _'proper uniform'_ because she hadn't been made to wear it before and she wasn't going to wear it now.

She checked her phone quickly, but there were no more messages, so she pocketed it once more. Eliza looked over.

'I'm serious, someone will find out, and then you won't get it back for ages.'

'I'm not going to be here for ages, so I don't care. If anyone finds out, then they can take it, but I guarantee I'll have it back by the end of the day.'

'Good luck with that.'

The lesson was a complete waste of time. Adele didn't even bother to do any of the work, and when the teacher asked why, she told her the almost truth;

'I know all this stuff. I don't see any point in doing it again.'

'Did you do this work at your old school?'

'Yes.'

Thankfully, the bell went before she had to think of any other lies, so Adele grabbed her bag and followed Eliza out of the building and into another. Once again, the lesson was boring and easy, so Adele spent the time scanning through Sherlock's earlier texts, from the days before she had died. None seemed out of the ordinary, and the style completely matched that of the more recent ones. Concluding that she would have to find out who had the phone one way or another, Adele put it away.

The rest of the day went by slowly, and as soon as the last bell went, Adele walked out, receiving even more stares as she left. But a familiar sight distracted her, and as soon as she got out of the gates, she found herself face to face with Detective Inspector Lestrade.

'Having fun?' He asked. Adele glared at him, choosing not to reply.

'Follow me. I have something that might be of interest to you.' Suspicious, Adele followed, and found the Sergeant Sally Donovan was there as well. Joy.

'Hello there, freak junior.' Adele had forgotten how annoying she could be. Her obvious dislike of Sherlock and Sherlock's obvious dislike of her had led to Adele disliking her equally as much. Well this, coupled with the fact that she always referred to Adele as '_freak junior'_, which was more than annoying.

'How's Scotland Yard these days? Having fun doing the work yourself?' Adele asked, sarcastically. This clearly annoyed Sally, who opened the door of the car, signalling for her to get in. Scowling, Adele did so.

'Where are we going then?'

'Were in need of a bit of help, actually. You were speaking to him, before he jumped, weren't you?' Said Lestrade.

'Yeah. I thought the case was closed anyway? That's what you said initially.'

'Well, I'm holding my own little _private_ investigation. I thought you'd want to help out.'

'Fair enough. I'll help, but I want something in return.'

'Name it. I'll do my best.'

'Get me out of here. I can't stand it. Let me go back to Baker Street, I'll help you as much as you need.'

Lestrade seemed to be rethinking. Adele didn't really want to help, as she didn't want any more memories dragged up, and if Sally Donovan was involved, she would be putting up with stupid remarks, and being called _freak junior_ all the time. But she wanted to get out of Hammersmith, and she would do almost everything to go home.

'Deal. Give me a week. But you have to start helping now.'

Excellent.

'And _she_ can stay out of it.' Adele snarled, looking over at Sally.

'Minimal input. She's my assistant. How about I keep Anderson off it instead?'

'Fine. Where exactly are we starting?'

'Roof of St Barts. Best to start at the beginning.'

The rest of the drive was in complete silence. Sally was clearly not happy about the minimal input, but Adele was very pleased. She could say anything she wanted, find out a bit more about Sherlock's death, and no Anderson. Plus, she was getting out of Hammersmith, and this way meant it would be over within a week or so.


	4. Chapter 5

Standing on the roof of St Barts was surreal, to say the least. When Adele thought about how this was the last place Sherlock had stood, the last time she had spoken to him, she suddenly wanted to leave. Lestrade seemed to notice, because instead of his normal manner of speaking, he was slower and softer.

'It's all been cleared up, but it's worth looking around all the same. That's where…it happened.'

Adele walked slowly over to the edge, and looked down. Now she _really_ wanted to leave. This was his last view. True, it was spectacular, but it wasn't easy to concentrate when you are mirroring one of your only friend's moves towards death.

'Who cleaned it up?'

The wind was strong, and her long, black hair blew across her face. Adele swept it away. Lestrade appeared to be debating on what to say. Not good.

'Well?'

'No idea.'

Just as he said this, Adele's phone beeped;

_Where are you?_

John. She had forgotten to tell him that she would be late. Quickly, she texted back;

_St Barts, Lestarde wants help. As per usual._

Pocketing her phone, she went back to the edge. As she stood there, Adele noticed a piece of paper, stuck under a piece of slate. Checking that no one was looking, she picked it up and put it in her pocket. It was probably nothing, but it could be important, and she wasn't going to let Lestrade get hold of it. Checking her phone, she realised that the noise of the wind had prevented her from hearing her phone;

_Are you still coming over?_

Adele quickly sent a message back;

_Not long, trying to get away_

There was a specific reason Adele wanted to leave the roof. One, memories of Sherlock were flooding her brain, and Sergeant Donovan would no doubt find it amusing if she started crying. Of course, Adele didn't cry, but she had lost all her powers of analysation, and who knew what could happen next? Emotions? Adele hadn't expressed anything near to sadness for years, and she didn't want to start now.

'I have to go.'

'Why? You only just got here. I thought you said you would help?'

'You uphold your side of the deal, I'll uphold mine. Text me developments. And for God's sake, try to avoid a court case, I can't help being sarcastic when faced with high ranking officials, and the last time Sherlock did that he ended up being thrown out.'

With that Adele walked away, through the door and down the stairs. Halfway down one of the corridors (she couldn't really care which one, having never paid attention when she was here with Sherlock; it had never been of particular importance, considering that there was normally a murder case that needed solving), she walked straight into Molly.

'Sorry.' Adele muttered. She didn't really want to talk to Molly, for obvious reasons. Sherlock was almost certain to become the topic of conversation, and that wasn't really something she wanted to discuss. Unfortunately, Molly had other ideas.

'So, what are you doing here?' She asked, clearly attempting to be cheerful. Of course, where Molly was concerned, cheery normally ended in being taken for granted by Sherlock, and Molly being upset for ages. Being stuck in the middle, Adele had always found these situations tedious, and so had avoided speaking to Molly as much as possible. Molly didn't ever seem to take the hint.

'Leaving, actually. Goodbye.' Adele hurried out of the way. Molly would try to question her further, and she only has so much patience left.

As soon as she got outside, a taxi pulled up. The things were still following her then. It was almost definitely orchestrated, possibly by Sherlock. Her reasoning was simple: It was a suicide. That she was starting to accept. So, he would have had time to organise things. These things, were at the moment, only a taxi to follow her around Baker Street (presumably he hadn't anticipated the absence of legal documents being a problem; although nor had Adele. Perhaps he had assumed Mycroft would get involved, or that no one would care).

When she arrived at Baker Street, it was half past four, which was far later than she would have thought to arrive. Still, John let her in, and immediately asked about the school.

'So? What was it like? How many times did you get thrown out?'

'None, actually. Although it was too easy, and if I refuse to do anything they ask whether I did it at _'my old school'_, and obviously I couldn't explain that. It's awful though, I don't know how anyone stands it. No wonder Sherlock never made me go. I definitely prefer crime scenes.'

'You'll get used to it. Just use your trademark charm.'

'And by that, I'll assume you mean my trademark sarcasm.'

'Oh yes. Why were you late anyway?'

'Lestrade. Like I said, he wanted help, and he's doing me favour. Well, several, actually.'

'Really. He must be desperate. What are you doing for him?'

'He's got his own private investigation going on. Into what happened with Sherlock.' Adele winced when she said the name. 'And he wants help. So I said that provided there's no Anderson, minimal input from Sergeant Donovan, _and_ he's going to have a go at getting me back here without any court cases. I've given him a week'

John gave out a low whistle.

'A week?'

'If he really is desperate, he'll do it. If you want, you could say I'm testing him… Once I'm back here, I'll help him with his work.'

'He will struggle. Is that why you did it?'

'Partly. I find others struggling rather amusing. It'll take him a while to cotton on; I never got the impression that he was particularly clever anyway.'

The rest of the visit mainly consisted of John telling Adele how to behave at the school. Adele took it all in, but was sure she would either delete it anyway, or do the opposite. When it was time to go, she got on the tube, which was stupid. She managed to get caught in rush hour, and had to let several trains go before she found one going to the right place, and with space. When she got back, Ms Daines had made food. Adele, however, had grown up with Sherlock Holmes; She was particularly wary about eating anything, so ignored it and went back to steal an apple once Ms Daines had left. She was rather apt at surviving on little or no food, due to Sherlock's awful shopping and cooking habits. Also, you didn't eat anything you found in Sherlock's fridge unless either you had either bought it first hand, or watched it being bought by Sherlock. For your own safety.

Once again, Adele's sleep was riddled with flashbacks and perfect replicas. Well, what little sleep she actually had. Being on the rood that afternoon had gotten to her, and now she was replaying Sherlock's last words to both her and John in her head.


	5. Chapter 6

Waking up had never exactly been one of Adele's strong points, so waking up after only our hour sleep, at the most, was not at all easy. She forced herself out of bed anyway, cursing just about everything she could manage.

When she checked her phone, she found yet another message. Just what she needed. Groaning she opened it, preparing for the worst;

_You don't like Lestrade; I would undertake my own investigation, if I were you. Just a thought_

_SH_

This was becoming more than ridiculous. No one had even so much as asked about the phone since Adele had got it, and she hadn't given it to anyone either. The only explanation was that someone had stolen it. Or Sherlock was alive, well, and using it to annoy her. Why this kept becoming regular thought, she had no idea. The most likely explanation was that she was clinging to the hope that Sherlock had survived, even though the majority of her brain knew this was impossible. She would have to do some detective work.

As with the previous morning, Adele simply left the house, not bothering to talk to Ms Daines. There was little she could speak to her about anyway. The only people she could think of conferring with were John, and possibly Lestrade.

Arriving at the school, Adele noticed Eliza was at the gate. Eliza waved at her as she approached, but Adele was hardly in a friendly mood, so she didn't react.

'Are you alright? You look really pale?' Eliza asked, as soon as she joined her.

'I have been reliably informed that I always look pale, so I can't really judge on just that. You'll have to give me some more details.'

'You speak far too formally for this place. You'll get teased. I'm serious.'

'I can deal with mild teasing. Well, I can deal with almost any form of bullying. I lived with Sherlock Holmes, and Scotland Yard don't take kindly to kids on a crime scene. Anyway, I'm not changing the way I speak, just because one of imbeciles here doesn't comprehend anything I say.'

'That's exactly what I'm talking about.'

'You only have to put up with it for one week. I'm sure you'll do fine.'

Eliza sighed, so Adele assumed that she had won.

'And you won't be able to get away with not doing anything for long. We have History today, and Ms Wilkinson doesn't take any nonsense.'

'Depends what you're doing in History. If I know everything already, I'm not doing it all over again.'

'The Nazi's'

'Easy.'

When they arrived at History, Adele noticed that she was attracting considerably less stares today. Most likely everyone had gotten bored of the '_new girl'_, and were now looking for something else to find interesting. As if she were trained to do this, as soon as Adele walked in, the teacher, or Ms Wilkinson, as Eliza had told her, walked over, and immediately found a problem.

'That is _not_ school uniform. Detention.'

Adele glared at her, but suddenly changed her mind. She was already in trouble, so a little more couldn't possibly hurt.

'Well, I wasn't told that yesterday, so it's not exactly my fault, is it?

'Sit down. Over there, with Eliza.'

Both feeling and looking rather smug, Adele followed Eliza to the back of the room. This teacher really was quite stupid. As soon as she sat down, the teacher (Adele didn't think she deserved a first name) gave her a green book, and told her to write her name, for group (she had to look at Eliza's book for that) and the teachers name. A soon as she made to do so however, she was stopped.

'Your _real _name please.'

'That is my real name. Adele Holmes.'

'The school system says different. Your surname, however much you procrastinate is Daines. You reside within the Daines household, your legal guardian holds the surname Daines, and therefore your legal surname is Daines.'

'_Legal_ surname. Who said I cared about whether it's legal or not?' Unfortunately, this was the wrong thing to say.

'Out. Now. Take your bag.'

Fuming, Adele stormed out, taking her stuff with her. Part of her was pleased that she had, effectively beaten the teacher, but she knew that if John heard he would be disappointed. Although hopefully he would see the funny side. Just as she began to think about what he would say, her phone vibrated in her bag. Fishing through it, she grabbed the phone and checked what it was. Another text. Yay;

_Well done, but I think someone was waiting for that to happen_

_SH_

This was the second text today. Now, Adele should have been worried, but it was hard not to see the funny side of everything that had happened. Although, whoever was texting her knew exactly what was going on at this precise moment in time. No one in the room had been using a phone, she knew that, having looked around as she entered. Whilst most of her powers of deduction had been lost, she was still able to scan people and instantly work out a few things about them. This meant that someone might have been looking through the window, which was highly unlikely, because they were on the second floor. So someone could be in the same corridor as her, although if they had any sense they would have cleared off by now.

And more to the point, who was waiting for it to happen? So, it was quite predictable that she would fight her corner, but it was impossible to have known that the teacher would have a problem with what she would write on her book. There were holes in every theory she formulated, which bothered her immensely. Annoyingly, as she began to rethink her ideas, the teacher stepped out into the corridor.

'Explain yourself.'

'Explain what? It's not like I did anything wrong. I wrote my name on the book. You just happened to have a problem with that. Which, by the way, was completely and utterly ridiculous.'

This was clearly the wrong thing to say. Or at least, depending on how you looked at it. On the one hand, it could be seen as the perfect way to start her investigation; this place was hardly organised, and from what she could see, the office computer was almost nearly unguarded, so there was a possibility of checking the CCTV while she waited to be told off, or whatever. On the other hand, her hacking skills were pretty much non – existent, which would definitely cost precious time, and whilst there would be _some_ time, there wouldn't be much. Unless the computer had been left logged on.

Once they got to the office, Adele looked around. Sure enough, there was the computer, and, for some insane reason, the security program was open. Perfect.

'Wait here.'

As soon as the teacher was out of sight, Adele darted over to the computer, and scrolled through the time options, choosing about quarter past nine. This was the best option, as after two minutes, what looked to be a tall man in a long coat walked into the building, through the office, and disappeared. Clicking on the camera corresponding to the corridor of the History classroom, Adele watched as he walked down the hall, and stood looking into the room. From here, she assumed her could hear everything. The man took out what looked like a phone, and typed something out, before pocketing it, and walking swiftly away. When she checked the office camera again, however, there was nothing. So he would have to leave another way.

As she slipped away from the computer, and over to the chairs she had originally been standing by. It occurred to her that few people could get in and out of the building without being spotted. Sherlock could have managed it… And then she remembered;

'_You look taller in the photographs.'_

'_I take advantage of a good coat and a short friend.'_

The man had been wearing a long coat, as had Sherlock… And Sherlock wouldn't have had any trouble getting in and out of the building without suspicion.

But she needed to stop thinking about that. Sherlock was dead, he wasn't coming back, and someone had his old phone. An she needed to get hold of it.

Unfortunately, the 'head master', or whatever they were called these days walked out of his office at that very moment, followed by Ms Wilkinson.

'In.' Whilst he was smiling, it was incredibly forced. Adele, however, had a feeling that he wasn't angry, but something else. There went her failing powers of deduction once again.

She sat down, without waiting for the invitation to do so. She was feeling restless, and felt in need of a challenge, but that didn't seem to be on the headmasters mind. Git.

'So, what was all this about? I take have a feeling that it's not as simple as putting a name on a book, is it?'

'No, it's a blatant abuse of my freedom of speech, that's precisely what it is. Now, if you don't mind, I have business elsewhere.' And with that, she stood up to leave

This, however, was not the end of the conversation. Sighing, she sat back down.

'You've only been here two days.'

'One and a bit, and now I have to leave. Goodbye.'

'Scotland Yard, then Baker Street, by any chance?'

This caught Adele off guard. She twirled around.

'How do you know _that_?'

'I have friends in the right places. And I won't stop you. In fact, I'll give you permission. But you don't like Lestrade. And you know it'll take longer than a week to get back to Baker Street. But if that's really what you want to do, then go ahead.'

Adele didn't know what to say, so she stalked out of the office, through the doors (there was still no one on duty), and hurried to the station. She looked out of place, of course, but that was of little importance. The few people on the streets didn't even glance at her.

The headmaster had been wrong. Scotland Yard was the last place she wanted to go today. 221B Baker Street was where she was headed, and once there she was going to search the flat, find anything she could before she was forced back to Hammersmith. Her investigation. Not Lestrade's. Her's.


	6. Chapter 7

As she sat on the empty train, Adele remembered something. She still had the paper from the roof in her pocket. She pulled it out, contemplating on whether she _really_ wanted to open it. Yes, she wanted to know what was written on it. But whether it was wise to do so was an entirely different matter. What was written on there? And was it seriously important? It might have just been litter. But, then again, not many people took time on the roof of St Barts. In fact, Adele was almost sure that _no one_ ever ventured to the roof of St Barts. She decided to look at it later; she didn't want to decide now.

When the train pulled into the station, Adele stood up. The platform was deserted, but that was pretty normal. It was a weekday, this wasn't exactly a busy station anyway, and rush hour had long ended. There was nobody on the streets, except for taxis. One was driving slowly a few feet behind her. As she walked up to 221B Baker Street, it pulled up just outside. Creepy.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. John's mouth fell open when he answered.

'What the _hell_ are you doing here?'

'Various reasons. Can I come in? I need to explain a few things.'

'It's as much your flat as it is mine.'

'If only the government saw it that way.'

Once upstairs, Adele sat down in the chair opposite Sherlock's. She still regarded it as Sherlock's chair, and it seemed that John did so too, as he sat on the sofa.

'So, I take it you aren't here with permission, are you?'

'Well, that was the original plan, but it didn't work as well as I thought.'

'Why?'

'Well, I _was_ just going to walk to the station instead of that stupid school place, but then I forgot and walked to the school by accident.'

'How do you forget where you're going if you've had it planned out?'

'I got distracted.'

'Not like you.'

'Trust me, that's not what I'm concerned about.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I had a teeny bit of an argument with one of the teachers, and she made me go to the headmasters office, and he…sort of knew everything. My plans, Lestrade, everything. And he _let me go._ Isn't that a bit weird?'

'Did you ask him how he knew?'

'Yep. He said he had friends in the right places.'

'Scotland Yard?'

'I doubt it. I reckon he has someone spying for him. But I don't know why…'

Adele got up and went over to the window. Looking out, she got a surprise.

'Why is Mycroft standing outside, about to knock on the door?'

'Mycroft?'

John leapt up, looking alarmed.

'Bloody hell… What do you think he'll say if he finds you here?'

'God knows. If I take off this wretched tie, he might not notice…'

This, however, was a stupid idea. Mycroft was practically British government, and for all they knew, could have organised the entire Hammersmith charade. Just as Adele pulled off her tie and threw it behind the sofa, he knocked on the door.

'Answer it. He knows your in.'

John jogged down the stairs, and returned after a minute with Mycroft at his heels. As soon as he saw her, he gave Adele patronising smile.

'Shouldn't you be in school? I believe that today is a weekday, and on a weekday, you are required to attend school.'

Glaring at Mycroft, Adele answered.

'Since when was my attendance of any importance to you?'

'Ms Daines may be worried.'

'I honestly couldn't care less.'

Mycroft frowned.

'Something is bothering you.'

'Well observed.'

'And you won't tell me?'

'Why should I?'

Mycroft had never really taken well to people saying no to him, particularly Adele. She was sure he would try to catch her off guard again, but he was probably here for another reason. Although Adele didn't know quite what.

'So why are you here?' Asked John

'Her.' Mycroft pointed his umbrella at Adele

'Do me a favour, Mycroft, and at least talk about me as though I'm here. Some people would think your being quite rude.'

Adele was now sitting down, and before Mycroft had spoken about her, had been observing the paper.

'Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Miss Holmes.'

'Well, I don't think so.'

Then she realised. Mycroft had called her Miss _Holmes_. So it was possible that he didn't know, or hadn't had a part in the Hammersmith charade. But that didn't make any sense. He knew that she should be at school. So either he hadn't organised it all, or knew that she didn't like being referenced to under the surname Daines.

'So? What about Adele?' John had re-joined the conversation, if you could call it that.

'Well, it is of my belief that she is having…problems with her new placement. I decided to investigate.'

'Your right. I don't like Hammersmith. I don't like that school place. And I want to know who organised it, where they live and where they work, so I can find them and tell them precisely what I think of them.'

'I think, Miss Holmes, that you may want to think twice about what you have just said.'

'Was it you? Because it would save an awful lot of effort if you just told me, and I wouldn't have to tell you what I think of you, because I think you already know.'

'He taught you well, didn't he? Or did you guess?'

'It was rather obvious. You know I'm supposed to be in school, you know about that stupid woman I'm meant to be living with. How stupid do you think I am?'

She had said this rather harshly. But, then again, Mycroft had pretty much ruined her life, so it wasn't exactly like she was going to be nice.

'You would like me to explain, wouldn't you?' Mycroft appeared to be enjoying this, for he was smiling slightly. Although this was a fairly normal sight. That, and a look of complete anger.

'Actually, I would.'

'When my brother…died, he left no will. Already, there have been problems with where you live. The lack of documentation, and the fact that the care home which he claims you lived in prior to your residence here is non – existent makes it particularly hard to allow you to continue your residence here. Therefore, until sufficient documentation is presented, legally you live in Hammersmith.'

'Your practically British government. You could have stopped it. Or faked documentation. I don't see what's stopping you.'

'I occupy a _minor_ position in the British government.'

'Answer my question.'

'I cannot intervene with the law.'

'But you can drop it, add to it, and reword it. I would have thought this would be rather easy for you.'

'If my brother left no indication of where you are to reside, then for all we know he opposed the idea of you continuing to live here.'

'He didn't oppose.' The words fell from her brain, words she intended to keep secret. She couldn't tell anyone that Sherlock had spoken to her before his death. She didn't know why, but she just couldn't.

'Can you prove that?'

'I – no.'

'Well, there you are then. Seeing as your aren't going to tell me anything, I may as well leave.'

Mycroft turned on his heels, and left. He walked down the stairs, and opened the door. Just before he left, he called up;

'I'll be watching, Miss Holmes.'


	7. Chapter 8

**Hey readers! I'm probably going to become much slower with writing and uploading, so I apologise! Also, I need to know various things which I assume will be revealed in the third series of Sherlock, which is due to be aired late/later this year. But for now, I should be writing and uploading at the usual pace.**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

Adele had rarely been bothered about anything Mycroft had said, but this was different. He had sent mixed messages. On the one hand, he had admitted to knowing about it, but on the other he didn't have any way of fixing it. But this was Mycroft, and there was no point in trying to decipher anything he said.

Having left Baker Street at nine o clock, Adele arrived back at the Daines household at nine thirty. She spent the entire evening in the room, having taken various food items with her from 221B Baker Street. John had thought of this, after Adele had told him about her mistrust of food from a normal fridge. Now, she was sitting cross – legged on the bed, back against the wall, scrolling through texts and making note of anything vaguely suspicious. Unfortunately, Sherlock had always kept up an 'everything's – alright' sort of act, so it was hard to tell.

Adele had gone through the messages countless times before midnight, when she decided that it was probably best to get some sleep. Sleep was one of the many things which Adele didn't enjoy. When she slept, her minds defences were own, and anything could happen. At the moment, things were getting rather repetitive. Same Sherlock, same roof, same fall. Same blood, same body, same death.

And that night was no different.

Adele woke up early the next morning, but instead of trying to get back to sleep, she dressed, got her phone, which had been charging the night before, and made to go back through her old texts. However, she was instead met with a 'new message' icon. She opened it, preparing for the worst;

_You found the paper; but haven't opened it. What's stopping you?_

_SH_

Sherlock's number. Sherlock's style. Sherlock's signature. But not Sherlock. However, it had to be someone who had been on the roof that day, or someone who had been on the tube at the same time as her when she had contemplated looking at it. There were flaws in that idea. One, there had been nobody else in the carriage with her the other day. Two, from someone else's point of view, what she had been holding would just look like a piece of rubbish or a sweet wrapper from her pocket. That is, if they didn't know it was her.

And that led to the security camera situation. They had looked ridiculously like Sherlock… Long coat, tall, collar up. Precisely as Sherlock had. She needed to stop thinking it was him. Sherlock was dead, she had seen him jump, felt for his pulse, sat in the morgue for hours. He couldn't be doing all of this.

Pulling herself to her feet, Adele grabbed an apple from here bag, the last piece if food she had left. It was either get some money, or get back to Baker Street and ask John for more food. Or eat the crap here.

Adele got to school ridiculously early, and decided that the best thing to do with her time would be to start her investigation. This didn't go especially well, because as soon as she got to the form room, there was a teacher waiting for her.

'Adele. You're early.'

'Well observed.' Adele didn't like any of the teachers here, and so had decided to speak to them as patronising and sarcastically as she possible could. Not many teachers seemed to understand that she wanted to be let alone, which puzzled her. She thought she made it perfectly clear.

The teacher simply smirked, so Adele left, intending to walk around the outside of the building and over to the office, where she could, hopefully, have a look at the school visitors book and see who had signed it in the past few days. Her plans, however were immediately brought to a halt by Eliza, who was walking through the grounds in the opposite direction.

'Adele!' Eliza waved, and Adele smiled back. She couldn't cut any ties with Eliza, who might become useful. She knew this place back to front, and could be helpful in her investigation. It was almost as though Adele was Sherlock and Eliza was John. Although Eliza wasn't going to know that. She would try to get Adele to wear the hat which Sherlock had absolutely hated, and, as a matter of fact, been completely baffled by. In fact, so was she. _Two_ flaps? How did that work?

'Eliza, I need some help. But you have to swear you won't tell anyone. In fact, if I ever speak to you, don't say a word to other people. 'Kay?'

'Er, alright then. What's up?'

I need to see the visitor's book, by the office. Can you go in there and ask for something, so I can look through it, without looking too suspicious? Please?'

'Sure. Why though?'

Adele didn't know what to tell her. She hadn't even told John about the texts yet, although she had been meaning to. Unfortunately, she hadn't really known how to explain, although if she told Eliza, at least she would know what she was doing.

'I'll tell you afterwards. It's best if we do this before everyone else gets here.'

The two girls made their way to the office, Adele in the lead. Once there, Eliza started asking the woman on duty questions about some stupid school event which was coming up. Whilst she was doing this, Adele flipped the pages of the visitor book back, until she came across the right date. One of the first signatures read;

Name: Reason for visit Date

Sherlock Holmes N/A

Adele almost fell over. Sherlock was dead. She kept having to tell herself that, what with all this going on. Just as she began establishing various theories', however, the bell rang, signalling the beginning of the school day.

Once sat in the Geography lesson, Adele set to work. Not school work, obviously, that would be a _complete_ waste of time. No. Theories' were flying round her head, each as unlikely as the next. However, through the Science of Deduction and the Process of Elimination, Adele settled on two. First; Sherlock was alive and well. He was leaving her signs in the hope that she would find him and they could continue to take out Moriarty's web. This was unlikely for various reasons which she had reminded herself of too many times to count.

The second theory; someone was posing as Sherlock, trying to attract her attention. Either they were part of Moriarty's web, or trying to bring it down, which was working incredibly well. But if someone really wanted her attention, they could just come up to her in the street, and talk to her. Simple yes, but easy and convenient.

Or it was a test. Sherlock had been in a state of constantly testing her, asking opinions and making her try her strength. But this theory only worked if Sherlock was alive, which he wasn't. This was becoming completely ridiculous.

Glancing out of the window, she realised it was raining. Just like on the day he died. Adele knew that she needed to stop thinking about it, and concentrate on the task in hand, which was finding out who was sending the texts. Just as she thought about it, her phone went off in her pocket. Checking that no one was looking, she checked it;

_Quite thorough. Keep it up._

_SH_

So whoever was doing this _wanted_ to be discovered. Interesting. Now, the question was, did she tell Lestrade? She was meeting him at Scotland Yard at four thirty. She had made the decision to help him, but was dropping one of the conditions. She didn't need his help to get out of Hammersmith, and she wanted to finish her investigation first. But she was sticking to the no Anderson and Sergeant Donovan having minimal input condition.

'Put it away. Someone is going to realise.' Eliza hissed at her. 'Who are you texting, anyway?'

Adele didn't want to tell Eliza what she was doing, but if she did, she could try to get her to help even more. It would be nice to have some company, even if it was annoying and naïve.

'If I tell you, you have to promise you'll help me with… what I'm doing. And that you won't tell anyone.'

Eliza took a minute to think.

'Deal. I won't tell a soul.'

'Souls don't exist. Honestly, the lies they tell you around here are ridiculous.'

'Just tell me.'

'When Sherlock jumped, he left his phone on the roof of the hospital. When it was brought back down, it was examined as evidence, but the results were inconclusive. So the guy in charge, Detective Inspector Lestrade, who Sherlock used to help, gave it to me. And I must have misplaced it, or it was stolen, because I've been getting texts for days from his number, in his style, with his signature at the end. And the other day, when I got thrown out of the History lesson, I looked at the security cameras, and someone resembling him was in the school, outside the classroom, texting, just as all that crap happened. But he got away before I actually got outside.'

'Bloody hell. So what do you want me to help with? Finding out whether it was Sherlock or not?'

'I'm getting to that. Anyway, I'm helping Lestrade with his own private investigation, but I haven't told him all of this. I'm sort of trying to do my own sort of thing, because I work better alone. But I need help, and from what I've gathered you know this place quite well. Also I like company.'

Adele had a feeling that she had shocked Eliza a bit by telling her so much, but the bell was about to go, and she needed an answer, so she could plan everything.

'I must be _absolutely_ insane. But yes.'

'Excellent. I'm meeting Lestrade later.'

At that precise moment, the Geography teacher came up behind them, putting an immediate stop to the conversation.

'Those shoes aren't school uniform.'

God, teachers could be really stupid. She hadn't mentioned the unfinished work, bright red t – shirt, or the lack of school crest on Adele's blazer.

'So?'

'They aren't black. The uniform rules say that the shoes need to be black.'

'Well, they are. Mainly. And they are Converse anyway, not 'shoes'.'

'If you want to take it up with the head teacher, keep them on. But changing them is probably the optimal idea.'

'I'll take my chances.'

The teacher clearly thought she was mad, but Adele preferred it that way. If it meant that people left here alone, then so be it.


	8. Chapter 9

**I'm actually quite pleased with the ending to this chapter, so yeah. Review please!**

After school finished, Adele said goodbye to Eliza, and got the tube to St. James's Park Underground Station. She didn't actually know this route, having always gotten there in a taxi, and more importantly, trusting Sherlock to knowing where they were and just following him, rather than looking or herself. But she had a tube map in her pocket, and it was straightforward enough.

After fifteen minutes she arrived. Once at Scotland Yard, realised that finding her way there was the easy part. Once you actually got to Scotland Yard, it was impossible to find the person you wanted, particularly because she was fourteen, and looked ridiculously out of place. Still, once she found Lestrade, things could only get better.

When she found him, Lestrade was talking to Sergeant Donovan, again. Thankfully, as soon as he saw Adele through the office window, he brushed her off. This clearly annoyed Sergeant Donovan, because as she left she narrowed her eyes at Adele.

'Freak Junior.'

Adele decided to ignore it, although she was tempted to say something sarcastic. Instead, she smiled patronisingly. Once in Lestrade's office, he smiled at her. Although they had always been on relatively good terms, he had never smiled at her, which was slightly unnerving.

'I heard about your altercation with the head at that school.' It was clear that he found it incredibly funny. 'You never give up, do you?'

'I'll tell you more about that later. You might find it interesting. I've come to settle the terms of our agreement. I've had a change of heart.'

'Go on then.' Lestrade leant back in his chair, putting on a clam face. But Adele knew that he was worried she wouldn't help him.

'I'll still help, but I'm dropping the Hammersmith condition. I'll get myself out of there; I have stuff to do beforehand. I'm sticking with the no Anderson and minimal input from Sergeant Donovan though.'

'Alright then. To be honest, I wasn't having much luck with that, there's only so much a Detective Inspector can find out about someone.'

Adele was quiet for several minutes.

'Well?'

'Do you have the recourses to track a phone?'

'Sorry? Phone tracking? We might, why?'

'No reason.'

'You're up to something. But I'll have a look if you want.'

'And some bullets!' Adele called after him. He returned and stuck his round the door.

'Why do you need bullets?'

'I don't, but I like to be prepared. I've been caught with no bullets before, and I almost got killed.'

He sighed, and left. When he returned he gave her a small rectangular device with rounded edges.

'Type the phone number in on the keypad, it should pick it up, provided that you've got signal. And I still don't see what you need bullets for.'

'My gun.'

'You have a gun? Where do you keep it?'

'My bag. If someone thinks you have a gun, they're going to check your pockets. No one would think it's going to be in my bag, with all my other stuff.'

'Where the hell did you get hold of it?'

'Sherlock's old Browning L9A1.'

'Why didn't I guess?'

Adele grinned.

'So, are you going to tell me why you need a tracking device?'

'Not yet. Probably soon though…'

Lestrade sighed and leaned back in his chair

'The investigation.'

'Yes. I've gone through all my texts, but there isn't anything suspicious. But he was quite good at disguising his feelings. If there was anything wrong, we'll have a hard time finding out what it was.'

'I've been considering that Moriarty might have had something to do with it all.'

'Oh definitely. I don't think he had him at gun point though. I think threats were made. Something or someone he really cared about.'

'There are several of those. John. Ms Hudson. Even Mycroft.'

'You.'

Lestrade's words caught her off guard. Sherlock had cared, but whether Moriarty would have seen that was a different matter. He could have, but it was more likely that he used John, or Mrs Hudson, or someone else. Not her. To Moriarty, she was a minor detail. Even consulting criminals miss things.

'Well, were one step closer than we were five minutes ago.'

'So close, but still so far.'

Adele left Scotland Yard feeling slightly better. She had accomplished several things today; One, she now had Eliza to help her. Two, she could track the phone, and hopefully start following it. Now for a third accomplishment.

From St James Street Underground Station, Adele took the District Line to Westminster Underground Station, and then the Jubilee line to Baker Street Underground Station. The journey took about twenty minutes, and in that time Adele remembered the paper. Again. She didn't really want to open it, but she did want to know what was written in there. She decided that she would open it when she got back to Hammersmith. Then she would have time to look at it properly, and analyse it.

For some reason, Adele's brain was back to processing thoughts at lightning speed, sorting them and filing under a category. Sherlock had always commented on the structure of her brain, how she had it sorted into sections, for event or new piece of information. Adele had always thought like this; It helped her sort things out easily, rather than being jumbled up and confusing.

John was at Baker Street, of course. He made tea, which Adele had missed, since Ms Daines didn't use very nice tea bags, and they sat down in the living room.

'How's Hammersmith?' John had been trying to cheer her up via text the night before, with little success.

'Awful, as per usual. But I've had an idea.'

'Go on. I can't imagine it's going to be sensible or easy though.'

'Your right. I need to explain though.'

John nodded.

'Well, you know they gave me Sherlock's phone after it was deemed useless. And since… Well, a few days ago, to be honest I haven't been keeping track of the date, someone has been texting. From that number, with his style, and the 'SH' at the end.'

'Right… So what did you do with the phone after you got it?'

'I kept it in my pocket, but either it was stolen or I left it somewhere, because I haven't seen it since the day after…'

'And we know this isn't Sherlock, obviously.'

'Exactly. So I went to see Lestrade, and he gave me this thing, and I can track the sim card. And I'm going to follow it, and find out who got hold of the phone.'

'What did these texts say?'

'Sarcastic stuff, like Sherlock would have said, had he been here. You can have a look if you want.'

Adele passed the phone to John, and let him scroll through the various texts.

'Very Sherlock. Has anything else happened?'

'Well, when I checked the security cameras, there was a guy that _looked_ like Sherlock, but it could have been anyone. But it was the same coat, and the hair held a similar resemblance.'

'If you're planning on following whoever this is, be careful. You never now, they might work for Moriarty.'

'That's another thing I wanted to ask you; I need some bullets, for the gun. Do you think he left any here?'

'Have a look, he might have. Did you ask Lestrade?'

'Yeah, but he didn't say anything. I have a feeling that he thinks fourteen year olds shouldn't be running around with guns.'

'That's what I used to think. But now I'm not so sure.'

Adele had a look through the living room, but she couldn't find anything. The only other place was Sherlock's room, and she didn't really want to look in there. That was his private space, even if he wasn't here to use it, or tell her no to go in. Still, she opened the door gingerly, and had a look round. She found a few bullets under the bed, which was good, because she didn't really want to look anywhere else.

'Found some. Don't you need any?'

'What am I going to do with bullets?'

'You have a gun.'

'Which I haven't used in ages.'

'Still, it's good to be prepared.'

'Good reasoning, but I have a feeling that I'm the only one that will accept it, possibly with Lestrade.'

Adele laughed. 'I think your right. But I've been caught without bullets before, and it wasn't fun. With a gun you can shoot and run, or even hit someone over the head with it, but with a knife you have to be precise.'

'You've stabbed someone?' John was clearly shocked by this.

'Once. It's not really my style, if I'm being completely honest.'

'How old were you?'

'Twelve? I don't care about dates. It was about two years ago.'

'You don't seem to care…'

'Emotions aren't really my thing. I stopped caring about most things a long time ago.' Adele had never told anyone about this, because of the fact that it would mean explaining her past, which she hadn't thought about for ages. As far as she knew, Sherlock hadn't told anyone much about her, preferring to reference to her as 'the kid who lives with me but isn't my daughter; don't ask'. Of course, this kept things simple, but when people did start asking questions, things became difficult.

'You aren't going to tell me why, are you?'

'Not know. It'll take too long. Another time.' As she said this, Adele noticed that she was loading the bullets at an alarmingly fast rate. She usually took her time, to make sure they were all in properly, and that the gun was as least likely to jam as possible.

'Suit yourself. And be careful with that gun, it's not a toy. How long have you had it anyway?'

'Since Sherlock got his new one. So a few years, I think. I don't remember dates. They aren't important.'

'Why don't you remember dates? You remember everything else, as far as I can see. Even minor stiff, like dirt on a shoe, or those numbers they put on lamp posts.'

'Dates are restricting. And boring. I just think of things as happening so many days ago, and work from there.'

'Some day, some scientist is going to want to study your mind. I've never heard of anyone with one so brilliant, yet that forgets dates.'

'Sherlock. Although he remembered dates. Well, he remembered most things, except for basic science.'

John laughed. 'I don't think I'll ever get over that…'

As she looked around the room, Adele noticed a book lying on the mantel piece. It was familiar, and when she took a closer look, she realised that it was the old book of fairy tales.

Adele had been pressurised by Sherlock to read as much as possible, which had meant that he had taught her. Adele's favourite stories as a child had been the politically correct fairy tales from an old book kept on the mantel piece, which she suspected had belonged to Sherlock as a child. Because they had been written for children, Sherlock had re – written them on paper, and slid it into the book, so that she could look at the pictures. This had ensured that she was a fluent reader by the age of five, after only a year with Sherlock. It had been particularly useful when Sherlock was called on by Lestrade, because for a year or so, crime scenes had been a bit boring, and stealing books was by far more enjoyable.

Adele stayed for another hour, so that she didn't get caught in rush hour, which was one of her least favourite times of the day. Once back in Hammersmith, she walked as slowly as possible. The only thing she had to so when she got back to the Daines was sort out the phone tracker, which would get boring after a while, seeing as she couldn't leave once she got in.

In the room, Adele took out the tracker, and typed in the number. It was going to take a while to locate the sim card, so Adele left it on the bedside table. She took out one of the books she had brought from Baker Street; A battered copy of 'Smiley's People', by John le Carré. She had never gotten round to finishing the trilogy, and had found the book under her bed in Baker Street. Sherlock had bought it for her, and she had forgotten to finish it amidst all the cases which had been popping up.

About three chapters in, she must have nodded off, because she woke up with a stiff neck and the book still in her hands. This hadn't happened for years, but after everything that had happened in the past week or so, this didn't faze her. Pulling herself up, she folded the page she assumed she was at, and got ready. It was Friday, according to her phone, so she only had one more day to endure. Adele grabbed the phone tracker, but resisted the temptation to check it. She would need something to do at the school, and this was definitely going to keep her occupied.

Adele headed out of the door, eating an apple, which she had decided was her favourite food. As she walked down the street, her phone went off. Fishing it out of her pocket, she realised that she had a text. Sighing, she opened it;

_Starting our own little investigation, are we?_

_SH_

Adele shoved the phone back into her pocket. Soon she would know who was sending all these texts, and armed with a gun and sarcastic wit, she could find out exactly why they were doing it.

Eliza was waiting for her outside the school, clearly full of questions. As soon as Adele got close enough to hear, she started to talk.

'What happened? Did you find anything? Well?'

'Keep your voice down! Nothing really happened, I got hold of a phone tracker, and I think it's located the sim card. I'll have a look at some point.'

'Wow! Isn't it illegal to track phone though? An invasion of privacy?'

'Probably, but you don't see anyone getting arrested for it, do you? Anyway, Lestrade gave it to me, so technically I have permission.'

'You're mad.'

'People have said that quite a lot in the past twenty four hours. You'd think someone might have noticed before.'

Eliza led the way to Maths, where Adele sat at the back and refused to say anything. She didn't know why she had decided to do so, but it was annoying the teacher, and this was rather amusing. When.

'Adele, can you solve the equation?' The rest of the class looked incredibly thick, because they were all staring at the board with expressions of confusion.

'X equals 6. It's not difficult.'

'Thank you. Now, how did you work this out?'

'In my head.'

'No, no, no, what method did you use?'

'The one you write on the board the other day.'

'Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Adele. Now, explain the method.'

'I don't want to.'

This was met by 'ooh's from the rest of the class.

'And why is that?' Adele could sense that this teacher was losing her patience.

'Because if I tell you, no one else can work it out for themselves.'

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.

'Outside, Adele. Now.'

Adele got up and left. As she walked through the door, she saw a figure standing at the end of the corridor, texting. Just like on the security camera the day before… And this one looked exactly the same…

It was now or never.

'Oi!'

This lost her the element of surprise, but the stranger turned, and Adele caught a brief glimpse o his face. Cheekbones. Like Sherlock's.

He took off, and Adele followed, the stranger clearly knew the way better than she did, because whilst they were running in all directions, appearing to know the way, Adele didn't recognise anything. Unfortunately, she couldn't follow them for too long, because they ran down a flight of stairs, and into the office corridor. If she went in there, her cover would be blown.

Swearing, Adele hit the wall with her fist, very hard. This was a stupid move, because now she was in a considerable amount of pain, and she had lost the stranger. Realising that at least she had escaped the teachers lecture, Adele started laughing to herself. She might have lost a chance to find out who was sending the texts, and she may have been in quite a lot of pain, it was incredibly funny.


	9. Chapter 10

The Maths teacher caught up with her soon enough, and was bemused to find Adele laughing to herself and clutching her hand, which had decided to go as red as possible. After putting her in detention, she had allowed Adele to go and look in the library, instead of having her disrupt the class further.

Eliza caught up with her at break. Adele was in the higher French group, so she hadn't had a chance to talk to Eliza beforehand. Eliza immediately pointed out Adele's hand.

'What the hell happened? All I heard was shouting, and then you disappeared! Who did you punch?'

'Why do you always assume I've done something violent? I got a teeny bit pissed off and punched the wall.'

'Why?'

'Lost him.'

'Lost who? You're going to need to explain properly.'

'The one that's been texting. He was in the corridor. I yelled and he ran, so obviously I followed him, but he went through the office, and if I followed him that way I'd get into way to much trouble.'

'You're telling me that you actually care about trouble? You've been put in a million detentions over the past week, none of which you turned up to, but you won't walk through the office?'

'Normal teachers can't do anything if I don't turn up. But the headmaster's office is through there, and I've already had a run in with him.'

Eliza looked baffled, but Adele ignored it. She didn't have time to explain anything to Eliza. It wasted valuable time, and she still had to check the tracker. She walked over to the back of one of the buildings, and took it from her bag.

'So, I can track the phone as it moves, and can get reports of where it's been on the past few hours…'

Adele looked down, and took a minute to figure out precisely where the phone was. She didn't recognise any of the street names, so she showed it to Eliza, who confirmed that it was in Hammersmith. So they weren't moving very fast. Unless, of course, they wanted to be found.

'So are you going to follow them?' Eliza seemed to have a knack for breaking her trail of thought, and one day Adele thought she was definitely going to snap. But Eliza was useful to have around, so she would have to try not to get too annoyed at her for a while.

'Later. I'm going to check for patterns, and then start to follow. If I know where they're heading next, I can be one step ahead. I just have to hope that they don't go somewhere with limited signal, because then I'll have to start all over again. But I will need your help.'

'What with?'

'You know you're away around Hammersmith, unlike me. I used to travel around by taxi, and just trust Sherlock.'

'For someone who can do any work put in front of her, you have quite a limited knowledge of London.'

Adele wasn't listening, but instead was already formulating a plan. 'Can you run? Fast?'

'What? I can run, but I'm not sure how fast I am. Why?'

'I tend to attract trouble, criminals and police officers. If you're with me, you need to be able to run, and keep up with me. I run quite fast.'

'Well, we have PE later. You'll be able to see then.'

'PE? Urgh. Remind me to skip _that_'

'You can't just bunk off. Someone will notice.'

'Then I'll sit out. I'm coming to this place, and then they try to make me do PE? Not bloody likely!'

The PE teacher didn't seem pleased with her excuse that afternoon. It was last lesson, and Adele had way better things to be getting on with. The only reason she got to sit out was because she didn't actually have a PE kit, having not taken that lesson into account.

Whilst the rest of the class charged about like apes, playing basketball or netball (Adele couldn't tell, for they played so badly), Adele had a look at the tracker. Whoever had the phone was still in Hammersmith, but they were at the tube station. Adele would have to watch the tracker closely now.

Suddenly, she remembered; while she had been chasing the stranger, her phone had gone off in her pocket. Checking that no one was looking (the teacher was more interested in a fight that had broken out), she got out her phone. She checked the text, which read;

_Clever. But there's a reason I'm trying to stay hidden_

_SH_

A reason? So they were anonymously sending texts, sending her on a wild goose chase, and there was a reason? And what was it? Just as she started to formulate theories, the PE teacher, who seemed to be on a short fuse after the recent fight, blew the final whistle.

'You look pale, what's up?' Eliza caught up with her as she tried to leave.

'Another text. I'm going to Baker Street, see you on Monday.'

Adele left without another word. Eliza looked hurt, but she didn't really care at this point in time. Well, she had never cared, having shut off most emotions by the age of ten.

She stopped by the Daines house to get some stuff, yelling to Ms Daines that she would be back at some point on Sunday night, possibly Monday afternoon. Ms Daines tried to protest, of course, but Adele had left the house before she could get very far.

Once at Baker Street, Adele showed John the tracker.

'Hang on… It says the phone is at St Barts…'

'Shit… Do you think we could follow it now?'

'Might be worth a try… Get your coat, quick.'

The pair of them flew down the stairs, and managed to get the taxi that had pulled up just outside the flat.

'St Barts will take ages to search…' Adele was now seeing flaws in the plan.

'Well they won't be in one of the wards. I would look in the morgue or the lab. If we see Molly we can ask her, but she might try to get into a conversation.'

They jumped out at the hospital, and John led the way through the maze of corridors. They checked in the lab, but there was no one there. Just as they got to the morgue, Adele recognised the figure from the school, only a few hours earlier.

'That's them. I saw them this morning. I tried to chase, but they got away. Should we sneak up?'

'Watch them. Examining a body…'

'Just like Sherlock used to do… Same coat as well…'

They watched for a few minutes, but had to duck when the stranger left.

'I don't think it's worth following yet. I'll write this down, but I'll keep watching for patterns on the tracker.'

They left the hospital, and as they did so, bumped into Molly. Joy.

'Oh hello! I haven't seen you for ages! Not since Sherlock… well, you know…' She giggled nervously.

'We'd love to stay and chat Molly, but were a bit busy at the moment, were in a bit of a hurry.' John gave her a small smile and puled Adele away.

'She can be _ridiculously_ annoying!' Adele burst out as they left. 'Let's walk back, it's a nice day.'

'Summer holidays are coming up. What are you going to do with it?'

'Who knows? I'll stay round here as much as possible, if that's okay.'

'No problem. What are you doing about getting out of Hammersmith?'

'Well, I want to investigate that headmaster. There's something fishy going on… But after that, I'll ask Lestrade again. He needs help, I've it to him. On those conditions.'

'Good reasoning. How long do you think it'll be?'

'A few weeks. I'm going to move quickly, I hate that place with a passion.'

'I can tell.'

Adele laughed, and as she did so, she spotted a figure in the distance.

'That's one of the assassins.' She muttered to John. 'One of the ones Moriarty had working for him….'

And with that, she took off after the figure, ignoring John's protests. Her gun was in her pocket, she had all her self-defence skills at her disposal, and she wanted revenge. That had always been a problem. Once she wanted revenge, she would stop at nothing to get it.

'She followed the man into an alleyway, expecting him to run out and keep going. At the last minute however, he turned around, pointing a gun at Adele and John (who had managed to catch up) menacingly.

Adele reacted fast; Now she too had her gun, and letting her eyes dart away from the assassin for a millisecond, she saw that John did too.

'What did he ask you to do?' Adele knew that he had never been told not to kill them, and was still acting on Moriarty's orders. If she even hinted at a threat, he would shoot.

'Kill you. Kill the girl.' His voice was horse, and Adele could guess that he was about twenty or twenty one.

'He's dead. Didn't you hear?' Adele tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but it was hard. She would never admit it, but she was scared too.

'He never laid me off. Never told me not to do it.'

'Shoot if you want, but I've got my hand on the trigger too, and if you shoot, the reflex action means that I'll shoot to. You won't be able to run fast enough. I've got a better aim than you, so chances are that I'll be wounded, but you'll be on life support at the hospital.'

He seemed to believe her words, because his expression changed. He looked worried, and Adele could tell that he was re – thinking.

'I won't go to the police. Just leave me alone. Leave everyone he told you to get _alone_. Get rid of the gun, and I won't say anything. He can't pay you for it anymore, can he? There's no point.'

'I don't trust you.'

'Yes you do. Now, hands where I can see them. Give John the gun, and we say no more. Understand?'

Apparently he did, because he passed the gun to John. It wasn't a very good gun, and Adele was eager to have a look at it when they got back to the flat.

'I'm not lowering my gun until I know you're not coming back. Now scram.'

The assassin took off, and after two minutes of not seeing him, Adele lowered her gun, and went over to John.

'Are you okay? You've gone pale.' John sounded worried

'Fine. Let's get out of here.'

The hurried out of the alley. Adele realised that she was shaking slightly. What had been warm summer air felt much colder than it had before.

'Are you _sure_ you're alright?'

'Sort of.' Adele didn't like being unsure of things. Now she was looking from a whole new perspective. And she didn't like it one bit.

'Are you going to tell Lestrade?'

'In a few days. If he suddenly sees loads of people following him, he'll know. Get him off his guard, and then get tabs put on him.'

Once back at Baker Street, Adele took out her phone, and texted Lestrade;

_Ran into one of Moriarty's lovely assassins. Back at Baker Street, you might want the gun._

Fifteen minutes later, Lestrade turned up, Sergeant Donovan in tow. John greeted them both, but Adele only said hello to Lestrade. In her mind, Sergeant Donovan didn't deserve anything close to a greeting.

'Here's the gun.' John handed it to Lestrade, who examined it carefully.

'You want me to arrest him, then?'

'Actually, no. To get him to give over the thing, and to leave, I had to promise not to tell you lot. Put tabs on him, and try to find some more of the network. Get them behind bars, and then get him last. Hopefully he won't suspect. Didn't seem too bright.'

'God, you've thought this through.'

'That's half the reason we call her freak junior.'

Sergeant Donovan had spoken. Adele glared at her.

'And the other half?'

Sergeant Donovan didn't answer.

'Thought so.'

Lestrade didn't stay, which Adele was happy about. Although she had nothing against him, but Sergeant Donovan was a complete pain.

'I absolutely _hate_ her. Lestrade is fine, but Sergeant Donovan. God, she's just…'

John grinned. 'The amount you take after Sherlock is astonishing.'

'Everyone says that. We aren't even related, so I don't know why. I just followed and copied.'

'You said you'd tell me how you ended up with him.'

Adele leaned back, and took a deep breath.

'Alright. But we'll be here ages.'

'I'm listening.'


	10. Chapter 11

**So, this chapter is a bit shorter, because I didn't want it to drag, when there's a lot of focus on one thing, and I didn't want to immediately change the subject.**

**Anyway, hope you like it!**

John brought some more tea, and sat back to let Adele talk.

'When I was four years old, I was put in a children's home. I was put there because… well, my mother hit me. Quite hard. That's how I got this.' She pointed to the long scar across her cheek. 'She did it. Mind games as well. Mental abuse, that's what it's called. The authorities must have found out, and I ended up there. I don't know what happened to my father, so I wouldn't ask. But yeah, I ended up there, and being four, I couldn't really do much about it. I didn't speak, I didn't like the other kids, and to be honest, I don't think they liked me either. But I didn't care.

'Sherlock was there on a case, something to do with a kidnap. The staff brought him in, and he talked to all the other kids. I sort of sat at the back of the room, with a tennis ball. I don't have a clue why I liked tennis balls, but there you are. And just before he was about to leave, he spotted me. The weird kid in the corner. And he asked me what my name was, and I think I just shook my head. So one of the staff told him, and he started talking to me. And I talked to him. I could talk, I just didn't want to. There wasn't anyone I _wanted_ to talk to. But he came back, and after a while, when the case was over, they suggested that he take me with him. Seeing as I didn't wouldn't behave in front of any prospective foster parents, it was probably a good idea. Get rid of the problematic one that doesn't speak. Apparently I scared the other children.

'So Sherlock thought over it for a week, and then decided that he would. I was more than pleased, I was overjoyed. And he took me to his house, and put me on the sofa, and asked me why I didn't talk. And I told him…for a four year old who didn't talk, I had quite an extensive vocabulary. I think I just learn quickly, you have to in the situation that I was in. So, I told him that I didn't want people to know stuff about me, or get inside my head. He said that he wasn't going to do that, but I had to trust him, and I might see some bad things, but he wouldn't let anyone hurt me. So I trusted him, and he was true to his word. Actually, I quite enjoyed crime scenes.

'But I still have flashbacks. Every time someone mentions something to do with stuff like that. And nightmares. Or night terrors, considering that I'm not really dreaming it, but rather re – experiencing.'

Adele had rarely talked for so long. John didn't seem to know what to say. After several seconds of dead silence, he did;

'Wow…'

'You're the only person I've ever told. Obviously Sherlock knows…knew. And I have a feeling he told Mrs Hudson.'

'I always wondered about the scar...'

'Everyone wonders about the scar. No one else ever says so though. You're the first one.'

'Is that good?'

'I don't know. I get sick of all the staring though.'

Neither of them spoke for several minutes.

'I wish it could be like the old days. He solved crimes, you blogged about it, and I found all the obvious stuff he missed. Oh, and not to mention the press outside the door.'

John laughed. 'Running after criminals just isn't the same, is it?'

'Nothings the same.' Adele glanced out of the window. 'And Mycroft's here.'

'What, again?'

'I know. Does he have anything better to do?' Unfortunately, the matter couldn't be discussed further, because Mycroft had knocked on the door. John went to answer it, and returned, Mycroft at his heels.

'Miss Holmes is here, I see.' Mycroft pointed at her with his umbrella.

'Hello Mycroft. I see you've still got that umbrella. Did you notice that it's July?'

'Sarcasm – '

'Is the lowest form of wit. As you have said countless times before. Anything we can help you with?'

'I simply came to check up on you. And to ask how you're…placement is going.'

'You know how it is. I hate it. Job done. Have a nice journey.'

'Now, Miss Holmes, some people may think of that as _rude_.'

'And I don't. Goodbye.'

Mycroft muttered something to John, and left.

'Does he come here just to annoy us?'

'Maybe, and this is just a suggestion, but maybe he's trying to help.'

'If he is, he's not doing a very good job.'

Just as she finished her sentence, the pone tracker beeped.

'Why does it do that?' Adele leaned across the table to check it.

'It says the phone is here. As in outside…' She looked out of the window. 'If Mycroft had it, it would have gone off whilst he was here…'

'Keep watching it. It might be a signal mix up.'

Nothing else happened that day, except for the occasional note on the paper left beside the tracker. Adele decided to leave it overnight, and look thorough the memory on the morning. She headed to her bedroom at 11 o clock, not remotely tired. She could tell that tonight would be restless. Relieving memories had brought it all back, and she would be incredibly dim witted to think that she would have a peaceful night, simply because she was back at home.

As she had predicted, Adele awoke several times that night. The first time was after a precise replay of Sherlock's jump, which had been a recurring terror ever since it actually happened. From then on there were various flashbacks from the first four years of her life. She must have flinched quite a lot, because she woke up suddenly on the edge of the bed, drenched in sweat, after an incident involving Adele cowering in fear as her mother prepared to hit her. This was one of the rarer flashbacks. Most of them involved precise repeats of words said. Words said, imbedded in her mind, marks made, imbedded on her skin. On the fifth occasion, she inspected her arm for a mark she had never forgotten. Just above the vein, it had been one of the more painful incidents. Sometimes, it was calming just to feel for the mark, raised slightly above the rest of her skin, to remind her if things were real. She had been doing it a lot lately, particularly the day after the jump.

At five thirty in the morning, Adele realised that after waking up approximately nine times, it would be pretty hopeless to try to sleep again. She got out her book, and tried to read. It was strange to think that a week ago, she had been concerned with taking out Moriarty, and now she had lost her best friend, mentor, and father figure, all in one go.


	11. Chapter 12

The rest of the weekend consisted of a visit to Sherlock's gravestone, where Adele once again stood for several minutes, almost as though daring herself not to move. She tried to walk away several times, but something stopped her. She found herself running her fingers along the scar on her arm, trying to stay in reality. When she finally did leave, she felt guilty, and couldn't stop looking back. Several times she thought she saw a movement behind the trees, but she brushed it off. She must have been imagining, because when she looked twice, nothing was there.

Adele and John also spent some time on the roof of St Barts. It left Adele feeling quite disorientated, and yet again, she found herself running her fingers across the scar. It had now become a habit, but it kept her slightly sane, which was good. John seemed to have noticed it, but he didn't say, instead looking at her curiously, and raising his eyebrows whenever she did so.

When Sunday evening came, Adele didn't want to leave. She knew that this would happen, but had been refusing to believe it. But all good things come to an end, and with the promise that she could spend as much of the summer holiday at 221B Baker Street, Adele departed with a quick hug and enough money for the week.

The tube was eerily quiet, but Adele preferred this. Less staring, and more time to herself. She had the phone tracker in her bag, which was slung over her shoulder, and her gun safely tucked into her pocket. Once in the house at Hammersmith, she retreated to her room, one eye on the phone tracker, the other on her book. Once again, she ran her fingers over the scar, almost as though trying to tell herself that things would be alright.

Adele woke early, with a stiff neck and book on the floor. She got to school just as the gates were being opened, which was a complete mistake. With half an hour to kill before Eliza got there, she was forced to wonder the corridors, and on her way she came face to face with the headmaster. Joy.

'Ah, Adele, I was hoping to bump into you!' Just his patronising tone infuriated her.

'Of course you were.' Adele replied, grimly.

'Would you step into my office for a moment?'

'I don't want to, but then you'll insist, and I'll have too. So, let's skip all of that; fine, I will.' With that, Adele followed him to the office. Once there, he gestured for her to sit down.

'I prefer to stand, thanks.' She said coolly. Actually, she didn't like standing, as it made her feel awkward and out of place, but if this headmaster wanted her to sit, then she would have to put up with it.

'I insist.'

'As do I.'

Adele glared at him. Whatever he wanted, he wasn't going to get it.

'I see you have little intention of taking your studies seriously. Several of your teachers have complained about your behaviour. You refuse to answer questions, and when you do, you respond with silly sarcastic comments.'

'And?'

'Therefore, I am recommending that you attend a session with our school counsellor. To sort out any problems. And to relieve your teachers of the responsibility of trying to discipline you, which is something your friend Sherlock seemed to have difficulty with.'

Adele knew that she had gone considerably paler, which was a strange occurrence. But she didn't care at the moment. The headmaster had pretty much just insulted Sherlock, which she wasn't going to take lightly.

'He didn't have _difficulty_. He just didn't have time. Anyway, the only people who have ever had a problem with me are the teachers here.'

'You will do as I say, and you will not answer back. You are hiding something, Miss Holmes, and I _will_ find out what it is.'

'You won't. You can try, but I wouldn't recommend it.'

'Eleven fifteen. Don't be late.'

With that, Adele turned on her heel and left. Only when she was in the corridor did she realise;

He called her _Miss Holmes_. Of course, he could have just known that it was her surname before, but still. Was it deliberate? It could have been, but Adele couldn't be bothered to go back and ask. It was only eight fifteen, so she still had plenty of time to kill. But what could she do? The only thing she wanted to do was find out who was sending the messages, and she couldn't do that during school time.

But this wasn't what she was most annoyed about. That stupid imbecile had managed to ruin her life further. Of course, this was a situation that she could work around, but it was still annoying and in the way. She could spend her time doing something useful, and now she was being forced to waste it trying to stop someone getting inside her head.

People had tried that, of course. Since she was only two years old. Mind games, telling her stuff, confusing her, and making life hell. From there, she had built up various defences, of which she was quite proud. The only people she allowed inside her head were Sherlock and John, two people who she trusted. Or one, now.

When Eliza finally got to the school, she was incredibly keen to know the exact details of the weekend. Adele told her, conveniently skipping over the graveyard incident and about telling John everything. She casually mentioned the run in with the assassin, which triggered a stream of questions from Eliza. Luckily, the bell interrupted her.

Their first lesson was RE. Adele hated it, and the fact that the teacher was basically trying to convert the class to one of the three religions she was teaching them didn't make it any better. After refusing to do the work, on the grounds of free speech, she was given another detention, and was sent out for the remainder of the lesson. When the rest of the class left, Eliza simply rolled her eyes.

At eleven fifteen, Adele left the Maths classroom, which due to a complete uproar from the class over a piece of homework, had been incredibly noisy, and left a ringing in her ears. In a way, she was glad to have escaped; the noise was also almost giving her a headache, and the last time she had experienced that, it had been incredibly uncomfortable. Unfortunately, leaving the classroom meant going to the counsellor's office, which was a pain. She had taken the long way there, weaving through random corridors, running her fingers across the wall. To most people, she must have looked absolutely mad, but it was calming, and much more fun than any of the crap she would have to put up with in a few minutes. But all good things must come to an end, and all too soon, Adele found herself sitting on the table which jutted out of the wall in the counsellor's office.

'So, Adele, do you know why you're here?' The counsellor, whose name Adele hadn't bothered to remember, was patronising and over - sweet.

'Because everyone thinks I'm mad, and that idiot has forced me to attend these stupid sessions which have absolutely no meaning what so ever?'

As Adele spoke, she glimpsed the woman making notes.

'What are you writing?' She asked, wearily. This was a mistake, for the woman made even _more_ notes.

'I do _not _have trust issues!' She said hotly.

'You're reading my writing upside down. See what I mean?'

'It's a habit.'

'What's _really_ bothering you, Adele? Why do you feel the need to play up in lessons, and talk back to teachers? Or to shun anyone who tries to talk to you?'

'Firstly, I don't _play up._ Or answer back. I use wit and sarcasm to amuse myself, because I know everything that these people try to teach me. Second, I don't _shun _people; no one tries to talk to me. No one cares, and do you know what, I'm quite happy with things that way.'

Adele could see that the counsellor was making notes. _Again_. She found herself fiddling with the woollen bracelet on her left wrist. Sherlock had given it to her when she was five, and she hadn't taken it off since, except to loosen it on occasion. She didn't know why, but she was subconsciously untying the knot which held it on her arm. Realising what she was doing, she went back to twisting it. She didn't want to take it off. It was one her last links to Sherlock.

'You play with the bracelet.'

Adele had forgotten that the counsellor was there.

'And what does that signify, I wonder?'

'Possibly nothing. Anxiety – '

'You can rule _that_ out.'

'And why?'

'Because.'

'So if we rule out anxiety, then we could assume that you are nervous – '

'Which, in essence, is a basic or mild form of anxiety, existing mainly in short term, and having generally little impact on the subjects' life.'

A stunned silence greeted Adele's words. Smirking, Adele said;

'I like to read.'

'That would be apparent.'

Silence, again.

'What do you think about, Adele?'

'Nothing that will be of interest to you.'

'Adele, you need to release your feelings, and talk to someone. Obviously something has upset you.'

'You know full well what's upset me, so I wouldn't bother asking. It was all over the papers, so it's not as if you're clueless.'

'Do you want to talk about it?'

'No.'

'_Have_ you talked to anyone about it?'

'Yes. Sort of.'

'Who?'

'Do you have to question _everything_ that I do?'

'Yes. It's for your well-being.'

'I can look after myself. I don't need a so – called professional to tell me what I'm thinking. I can work that out for myself, thanks.'

'I am here to help.'

'I don't need your help.'

'You come across as needing a friend.'

'I don't need friends. And I don't want friends either.'

'Why do you not want friends?'

Adele really had to think about that. Why didn't she want friends? Well, friends were complicated. But that wasn't a reason. That was an excuse. She didn't like complicated things. She didn't want people to get hurt. If you were with Adele, you were sure to be involved with something dangerous, or stupid. But Sherlock and John were her friends. Then again, Sherlock was like her father, except he stuck around instead of leaving her at the mercy of her mother. John was like her uncle, and the thing about both of them was that they really cared. Adele didn't tend to care about other people. Unless they cared about her first.

And she didn't like making friends. She had spent ten years without any kids her own age, and that had taken its toll on her social skills. In ten years, she had become sarcastic, bored, and quiet. She had retreated into her own shell, only speaking to people she completely trusted. And there weren't many people who fitted into that category.

'I don't need friends. I work better _alone_. And you need to stop writing _trust issues_ on that paper, because I don't have trust issues.' She glanced at the paper again and saw _denial of trust issues_ also written there. 'And I'm not in denial.'

'You don't trust anyone enough for them to be your friend, except for Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson. You need friends that are your own age.'

'If I don't want friends, then I won't have friends. Friends are…difficult.'

Adele had already said too much, which was clearly what this woman wanted.

'Explain.'

'I don't want to.'

'Tell me about the bracelet then.'

Adele sighed. I fit got this woman off her case, then she would have to.

'I never take it off. I twist it around my wrist because it gives me something to do. I don't like being still, and prefer my hands to be occupied. It stops me trying to strangle people who annoy me. The only time I have ever come close to taking it off was today. It's a subconscious thing; I don't decide to do it. It just happens. And you're writing everything that I say on that stupid paper and I don't like it.'

'Trust issues.'

'Oh for God's sake.'

With that Adele pushed herself off the table and stormed out. Once out in the corridor, she didn't stop walking until she was far away from the room. In the cool corridor, she realised how stuffy it had been inside. Leaning against the wall, she breathed deeply. She had said far more than she had meant to. Just as she was about to check the time, her phone went off, a text alert. Swearing, she opened it;

_It's not your fault. _

_SH_

What wasn't her fault? The jump? Saying too much? Whoever was texting would have to be bit more specific. Quickly, she texted back;

_You'll need to be a bit more specific. What wasn't my fault? Because, as far as I can see, I've caused a fair amount of trouble over the past two weeks._

_Adele_

She had only adopted putting her name after texts a few months ago, when Sherlock decided that if her phone was taken and someone was trying to get him, they would need a recognisable pattern in her texts. Also, if she had to borrow someone else's phone, Sherlock could identify her easily. Grudgingly, she had agreed, and the habit had stuck.

Whoever had the phone took little time to text back. Less than a minute later, they had replied;

_Everything that you think of as being your fault. Including today. Your defences are down. It's not your fault. _

_SH_

Defences? Okay, so she had built up various defences to stop people getting into her mind like before, but they just worked. They didn't falter. That was something she had always been sure about. But, then again, she had been sure about a lot of things up until now, so there was a potential problem.

Now Adele was worried. If her mind's defences were down, she was in trouble. She relied heavily on the fact that no one could get inside her head, and if people could do so, anything could happen. Like before.

As Adele thought about this, the bell went, which startled her. She retreated to the benches behind the school, where no one else went, and waited for Eliza, who she had forgotten to inform about where she would be during the previous lesson. Eliza was waiting for her, and looked slightly worried.

'You're really pale.'

'Am I?'

'Yeah. Where were you?'

'Somewhere unimportant. Complete waste of valuable time.'

'I'll stand here and pretend I know what you're talking about, alright?'

'If you want, but I always thought of you as the inquisitive type. I seem to be getting a lot of things wrong at the moment…'

Whilst Adele spoke, she was scanning the phone tracker, making notes. Her handwriting had depleted considerably in the past two weeks, going from calligraphic to a scribble across the page.

'What are you doing after school today?' Adele asked.

'Nothing… why?'

Adele grinned. 'How do you feel about a wild goose chase across London?'

'Do I have a choice?'

'Not at all.'


	12. Chapter 13

After school, Adele and Eliza dropped off their bags at their houses. Well, Eliza dropped her bag at her house, and Adele left hers in the room at the Daines house. She still didn't class herself as actually living there. Outside Eliza's house, they checked the tracker, which indicated that the phone was hovering around St Barts. Again.

'Right… That means we have to take the tube. Have you been there before?'

'No.'

'Stay close then, I might start running for no apparent reason, and I don't have time for finding you if you if you get lost.'

'At a hospital?'

'Whoever it is will move at some point. Just because they're there now, doesn't mean they'll be there when we get off the tube.'

'I'm starting to re – think coming with you, but I have a feeling that you won't let me.'

'No, I won't. Hurry up; if they move while we're on the train, we'll never get them. And that's another thing; we can't actually try to catch them. Not both of us.'

'Err…why?'

Adele sighed. Eliza could be incredibly dim – witted at times.

'Does the name Moriarty ring any bells?'

'He was that guy who broke into all those high security places, right?'

'Correct. Long story short, he had a load of blokes hired to threaten Sherlock, and they were told to do that by holding John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and I at gunpoint. He didn't lay them off, so they're still running around with guns, and if they see me, most likely they'll have a go at killing me. Or getting information, but either way, gunpoint, like I said. And I don't think your parents would be very pleased if I accidently got you killed.'

'So we watch?'

'Precisely.'

'But you still have a gun in your pocket.'

'Blazer pocket. And that is merely precautionary.'

'Merely? You have the vocabulary of someone three times your age.'

'I don't comprehend anything the youth of today say anymore. Why can't people just speak normally?'

'I think people might say the same thing about you.'

By this time they were half way to Baker Street on the tube. Adele didn't like being so close but unable to visit John, but school ended for six weeks on next Wednesday, so she didn't have to long to wait. At Baker Street, they checked the tracker again, which was still the same. She walked briskly to St Barts, not bothering to wait for Eliza, who was struggling to keep up. She was determined not to let anything distract her, so focused on texting John, and telling him not to react if he saw her, and to look out for the stranger.

At St Barts Adele had an idea.

'Have you got any paper?'

'What? Yeah…'

Eliza gave her a crumpled piece of paper, and Adele hurriedly sketched out what they were looking for.

'Long coat, pale, collar up, dark hair, curly, appears to be tall, but that's just the coat. Got it?'

Eliza nodded, so Adele led the way through the maze or corridors, intending to check the lab, and then the morgue. The lab was empty, so they checked the morgue. And sure enough, there was the stranger.

'Just watch.' She whispered. She didn't want to get spotted. There would most probably come a time when she would need the element of surprise, and she didn't want to lose it now. Just as she thought this, the stranger turned, and Adele caught a glimpse of his face. What she saw almost caused her to faint;

It was Sherlock. But that was impossible. Sherlock was dead, she had seen the body, and that was the end of it. And now, either he had risen from the dead, which was possibly the most unlikely theory she could possibly have thought of, or he had never died, although that was another theory she wasn't going to dwell on. It was all impossible, and it wasn't fair.

'Isn't that him? Sherlock Holmes?' Eliza interrupted her thoughts, something she was doing a lot lately.

'Shit… He's got the phone, so we can track him like that. I'm not following him, that's… Bloody hell…'

'You're not taking this very well, are you?'

'Of course not, he's supposed to be dead; I don't know how he's wondering around this place unnoticed. This is impossible... Cant this just be simple?'

As she spoke, Adele checked the phone tracker. Whoever had the phone was moving fast, and even if they did try to follow, they would never catch up. Just as she thought it, she received a text;

_You won't stop, will you? I'd re – think your theory's… The answer is right in front of you._

_SH_

'What the hell…'

'What?'

'Another text… Look, I'm getting distracted. Let's go back to Hammersmith, and think about it there. I was supposed to see Lestrade actually; I should probably call him to cancel…'

Eliza looked suitably confused, but Adele ignored her. There were more important things to do than explaining everything to her. She dialled Lestrade's number, her brain working at three times its usual pace.

'Lestrade? I can't help today, something's come up… Yeah, probably… See you.'

Adele shoved her phone back into her pocket.

'What did you tell him?'

'Exactly what you heard. He can't exactly threaten me, or throw me off the case, he needs help. As he always has.'

They made their way back to the station. Eliza was constantly asking questions, and Adele was seriously close to asking her to shut up. Once on the tube, she gave Eliza an almost full explanation, deciding to leave out the finer details.

'Lestrade closed the case a while back, and he's holding a private investigation now. He was friends with Sherlock, so I can't really question it. And when I say friends, I mean that they helped each other out, and could talk to each other without too many insults. He wants my help, because he can't carry out an investigation without Sherlock, and since that's not going to happen now, he asked me. And I knew Sherlock rather well, so in theory I'm the best candidate. Does that answer all your questions?'

'Sort of…'

'Well I'm not explaining anything more, I don't want to.'

'One more?'

Adele had to think about it. Realistically, the more Eliza knew, the easier it would be for her to help Adele out. But the less Eliza knew, the easier it was for Adele to go off and do whatever she needed to without dragging Eliza with her.

'Go on.'

'Why are you here anyway? What about that John Watson guy?'

'Absence of legal documents. Sherlock probably lost them, or didn't think it would be a problem.'

'Right…'

'And I don't think I'll be coming back after the holidays. I know all I need to know, I can get Lestrade to sort something out. No offence, but I hate Hammersmith, and I have better things to do with my time than sit around in classrooms.'

'Okay.'

'Sorry to break it to you, but I don't normally hang around with people my own age, so tact isn't my strong point.'

'No, it's fine. I didn't think you'd stay for long anyway.'

'You got that right.'

Eliza laughed. 'How do you know all that stuff they teach us? If you never went to school?'

'I lived with Sherlock Holmes. Crime scenes can get a bit boring, so I just read books. Lots of books. And he just told me stuff, and I remembered it.'

'How do you remember all of it?'

'No idea. I just do.'

Back at Hammersmith, Adele concentrated on her phone. Eliza went the other way from the station, so Adele had however much time it took to get to the Daines house to think. She either wasn't capable of thinking when she was there, or she wouldn't let herself. Either way, it wasn't very helpful, so she walked as slowly as possible.

Back at the Daines house, Adele retreated to the room, intending to text John and ask whether he had seen anything strange recently. Unfortunately a text alert stopped her;

_Thought about it yet?_

_SH_

Adele decided that texting back might be a good idea. One, they might reveal too much, enabling Adele to find out who they were, and two, she was incredibly bored and had nothing better to do, except for throwing a bouncy ball at the wall;

_You're not being very helpful. Can I have a clue?_

_Adele_

It would probably be a while until they replied, considering that they would have to think quite carefully about what they said, as so not to reveal too much. They came across as wanting to stay hidden, but at the same time, wanting to be found. Mixed messages. Just what she needed.

Adele amused herself with her book, which she still hadn't finished. Admittedly, she hadn't been reading as much as she used to, but she did want to finish the book, for Sherlock's sake. She progressed through several chapters before her phone went off again;

_Next Wednesday._

_SH_

Next Wednesday… What was significant about next Wednesday? School finished, and she was going back to Baker Street, possibly, maybe even definitely not returning. Other than that, she couldn't really think of anything. Unless whoever was texting had something planned. But they didn't seem to be the dangerous type. They were a bit like Sherlock, in attitude and movement. So, if you got on the wrong side of them, potentially dangerous, but not unless you really annoyed them. Her thoughts were interrupted by another text;

_St Bart's church. Five thirty. Don't be late_

_SH_

It could be a trap. But curiosity got the better of her. It might be fun anyway.


	13. Chapter 14

Adele barely slept that night, which, in a way, was good. No flashbacks, no replays of Sherlock's jump. But being sleep deprived wasn't great, particularly when she wanted to think and plan. And when your being forced to talk to the school counsellor, being sleep deprived doesn't work out in your favour.

Still, she would have to deal with it, which was easier said than done. One, she had said too much in her normal state of mind yesterday, which meant that it was quite likely that she would do the same thing today. Two, she only had eight days to figure out how to tackle her current situation. Joy.

As she walked out of the room, Adele caught sight of herself in the mirror. Under normal circumstances, such as two weeks ago, her hair would be perfectly neat, flowing down her back, curling at the end. Apart from the scar across her cheek, her skin was pale, and her eyes were bright blue, and questioning. Today, her hair was static, getting in her eyes and obscuring her vision. Her skin was pretty much the same, but there were bags under er eyes from the sleepless night. Her eyes were empty, not as alive as they used to be. A mess. Not strong, as she had always been. One of these days she was going to have a nervous breakdown.

Sighing, she left the house, happy that she would be out of it in just over a week. It was dull and boring, just like most things. Her mood was punctured, however, by a text alert;

_Lighten up. You'll know everything soon enough._

_SH_

Lighten up? That wasn't exactly easy. She had a full day of school in front of her, a meeting with Lestrade, and eight whole days before she found out everything. That wasn't soon enough, that was ages. It occurred to Adele once again that the entire thing was a trap, and that there would be someone with a gun waiting there for her. But what if it wasn't a trap and it was something good? Except the only good thing that she could think of was the mysterious stranger. That could be good or bad, because while she was desperate to know who it was, Adele couldn't help thinking that whoever it was might be out to get her, or dangerous. But maybe she was being paranoid. Or maybe not.

Eliza was waiting for her at the school, having gotten there earlier, for once. Adele ad never arrived early purposefully, but she had nothing better to do with her time, so had just left the Daines house before she died of boredom, or had to talk to anyone.

'You look – '

'Pale? I might have guessed. Why are you here so early?'

'I have nothing better to do. And how did you know what I was going to say?'

'You say the same thing almost every day. It's basic deduction, and if you, the person saying the words doesn't pick it up, then you're in real trouble.'

'Okay then. You speak – '

'Like someone three times my age?'

'Alright, I get your point.'

'Good.'

Their first lesson was English, which basically involved sitting in the same spot for an hour whilst writing down what an author means by 'the curtains were blue'. Of course, the teacher decided that it symbolised the mood of the narrator, or something depressing like that, and frowned when Adele answered the question with: 'The curtains are blue because the author couldn't think of any other colour. Not everything has some sort of deeper meaning.'

After English, Adele led the way into the second lesson, which was RE. Her least favourite lesson. Adele didn't care for any of the lessons anyway, but she had a special hatred for RE. It bored her, and causing trouble only amused her for fifteen minutes at the most. When the class finally shut up, the teacher began to speak;

'I want you to think back, back to your strongest and most prominent memory, something which really stands out.'

Adele could think of that quite easily. A summer's day, drizzle in the air, a product of global warming. A call, from Sherlock, asking her to meet him at St Barts. It was important.

'Who would like to go first?' When nobody volunteered, she decided to pick. 'Adele?'

Adele shrugged. 'I see two men. One well built, rich, possibly, wearing an expensive suit. Consulting criminal. He has a gun, pointed at the other. When he speaks, his voice is soft, but it's all deliberate. It can be harsh, but his aim is to manipulate. He doesn't need to yell. He taunts the other. Threatening. His hair is cut short, and he is overall smaller in statue than the other.

'The second man is slim. And taller He stands straight and tall, perfectly poised. He wears a long, black trench coat. As the wind blows, his dark, curly hair is forced in all directions. He brushes a stray piece from his eyes. His skin is pale, but not from fear. This isn't someone who can be scared easily. After several minutes of speech the first man shoots himself. He lies dead. The other staggers, unsure of himself. Something isn't quite right, and he knows that. He pulls out a phone. The call is crucial.

'The two people he is calling are on ground level. They look up, and there he is, on the ledge, ready to jump. They try to stop him, to persuade him to come down, but he refuses. It's too late.

'He jumps, or dives, flailing as he falls gracefully through the air. As he lands, everything is in slow motion. Blood pours from his head, straightening his hair. The two kneel beside him, willing for it to be a dream. But it's not. He's dead.'

Adele's words were met by silence from the rest of the class. Some were looking at her in fear, others avoiding looking her in the eyes. Then –

'Out. Now.'

It wasn't as though Adele hadn't anticipated this. Admittedly, there were better ways to ruin a lesson, but her aim had been to shock. People were woefully ignorant these days, and full of questions. This way, she was answering them, and shocking the class, which was basically killing two birds with one stone. She had tried that with real birds, but had only managed to kill one before the stone came hurtling back to earth, hitting Sergeant Donovan on the arm. It had been quite funny, until Sherlock was told that he had to discipline her properly, and Lestrade had told her that if she tried again she would be banned from any more crime scenes. At that point, Sergeant Donovan had called her a 'complete psychopath'. Sherlock came to her defence quickly, telling Sergeant Donovan that psychopathy was a serious mental disorder, and whilst Adele possessed _some _traits of psychopathy, she was certainly not a psychopath. By this time, Adele had gathered several more stones, and was seriously considering throwing them at Sergeant Donovan. Unfortunately, Sherlock had taken them off her before she could get herself in anymore trouble. He let her throw them at a picture of Sergeant Donovan later on in the day. But it wasn't the same as throwing stones at a real person. She had come close to doing the same thing when Sergeant Donovan had called her sadistic, crazy, and mental.

Out in the corridor, Adele could hear the talking from the classroom. She caught snippets of conversation. Most of them involved the word 'freak', or 'weirdo'. Adele had heard worse, so it didn't really bother her, but she didn't understand why she had been sent out for doing what she was told to do. It was twisted logic. Still, at least now, after she had been yelled at, she would be late for the meeting with the stupid counsellor. A text alert interrupted her thoughts, causing Adele to swear as she fished her phone from her pocket;

_You enjoy scaring people. You don't care for the consequences. A trait of psychopathy. I can list the others, if you would like._

_SH_

Alright, so she enjoyed scaring people. She didn't care about the consequences. And she was probably a bit messed up in the head. But psychopathy was slightly over the top. Or was it? Adele was tempted to say yes, but she didn't at the same time. Her thoughts were interrupted however, by the RE teacher.

'Explain.'

'I did what you asked. It's not as if I did it deliberately.'

'It _looked_ deliberate.'

'Well, it wasn't.'

The teacher clearly didn't want to go much further into the reasoning behind Adele's argument. Inside the classroom, the other kids were yelling, throwing books, and causing a complete disturbance. Adele was now starting to get a headache. This was not one of her good days.

'You're late. Go.'

Adele turned on her heel and left. She dawdled, taking the 'scenic' route, outside. The sun was out, forcing Adele to squint as she left the dark and dismal school building. There were plenty of ways to run away from here, but even Adele couldn't take out the school security system. It would be fun to try, but there were more important things to be getting on with.

As she turned to go back inside, ten minutes late, she received a text. Checking it, she inwardly groaned;

_Eight days. Don't forget._

_SH_

'Adele!'

Shit.

'Inside, now!'


	14. Chapter 15

'Why on Earth did you feel the need to traumatise your classmates like that? And don't give me any looks, because you know exactly what you said.'

Adele sat in the headmaster's office, in front of the desk. After she had been caught 'skiving', she had been taken to the office, and told to wait. And now she was receiving a lecture from the world's most boring imbecile. Okay, so she may have been a bit blunt with what she said, but she had only been doing what she was told, so it wasn't as though there was anything wrong. But teachers didn't see it this way, and so she was forced to sit there and pretend to listen. Or in Adele's case, look as bored as humanly possible, in the hope that she could aggravate the headmaster further. It appeared to be working.

'I didn't traumatise them; I did as I was told.'

'I don't care; you know what you were saying. You did it deliberately.'

'Don't patronise me. And we need to wrap this up soon; I have business to attend to.'

'After school, one hour, I don't care where you're going.'

'Have fun enforcing _that_.' Adele turned on her heel and left.

'You still don't understand why it happened, do you?'

Adele whirled around, almost losing her footing.

'What are you talking about?'

'You don't understand why he jumped. I hardly think that the texts are the right way to tell you, but there you go.'

'Explain.'

'Miss Holmes, you really need to be more vigilant. Good day.'

Adele left. Outside, in the sun, she thought long and hard. This headmaster was obviously in league with whoever was texting. And condemned it. Of course, getting information out of him would be virtually impossible. He was expecting to be challenged, so if she was to try, she would have to be incredibly subtle. Oh, yeah, because that was her _strong_ point.

She would have to wait until after school to follow whoever had the phone, but she could work out where they were from here. But she couldn't avoid the school counsellor forever, and soon enough found herself sitting on the table, trying to stop the stupid woman getting into her mind.

'Adele, what prompted you to say what you said in RE today?'

'How many times do I have to tell people? It was _not_ deliberate.'

'Do you feel misunderstood?'

'No I don't. Can I leave now?'

'Do you want to talk about your feelings?'

'Please don't patronise me. I'm fourteen, not five.'

'So do you feel as if everybody patronises you?'

'Do you really want me to answer that?'

'So you do?'

'When did I say that?'

Silence.

'Exactly. Now, if I can tell the time correctly, which I can, I would say that this session is over. Good day.'

With that, Adele walked over to the door. At the last minute, she turned around.

'Just because I won't talk to _you_ about myself, doesn't mean that I won't talk to anyone.'

Satisfied, she waltzed out, almost bumping into Eliza.

'I thought you might be in there. What the hell happened to you in RE?'

'_Everyone_ is asking that. I answered everyone's questions. Just not the way you would expect.'

'How much trouble are you in?'

'Detention for an hour after school today.'

'Are you going?'

'Actually, I'm considering going for this one.'

'Why?'

'I have my reasons. And I only have eight days to figure it out, so I can't waste any opportunities. Pretend you understand again, I don't want to explain.'

'Right…'

'Is this in Hammersmith?' Adele asked, giving her the tracker. She had just felt her phone go off, which meant a text. Sighing, she checked it;

_You're getting warmer. But is this really helping your mental state?_

_SH_

Mental state? Alright, so maybe she was a bit messed up in the head, but whether _mental state_ came into it was a mystery. But this wasn't really the time to debate with herself, and so Adele put it out of her mind. Although it was sure to come back later.

'Yeah, about half a mile away.'

Adele scribbled it down. The paper she was using was becoming increasingly crumpled, and she was struggling to read even her own handwriting. It used to be cursive, joined and slanted, instead of scrawled hurriedly across the page as it was now.

'No point following after school, I have that meeting with Lestrade tonight. Actually, I should tell him that I'll be late…'

Adele wandered off into her own little world. She had developed a habit of doing so recently. She texted Lestrade, realising that he would be quite amused by the situation;

_Will be late, in detention for an hour. Don't you dare tell Sergeant Donovan, or else._

_Adele_

He replied within a minute;

_How did you manage that? Will you need a lift? I know you hate rush hour!_

Suspicions confirmed, Adele texted back;

_I'll tell you all about it later. And yes I do. Who will you be with? _

_Adele_

Turning her attentions back to the task in hand, Adele realised something else;

'It's here.'

'What?' Eliza had become distracted. Idiot.

'The phone. Here. Now. Do you need me to spell it out? I'm going to look for it, stay here.'

'Why do I have to stay?'

'As I said the other day, your parents would be quite annoyed if I go you killed.'

'Adele!'

But Adele had already run off, through the corridors, down the staircases. Why would the person with the phone want her looking for them if they had already got her into meeting them next Wednesday? Just as she thought this, she found them.

Unfortunately, keeping up with someone who had clearly done this before was harder than she had thought, particularly because she hadn't run this fast in weeks, and it was harder to chase people than it used to be. This caused her to be half a corridor behind the person with the phone, which was slightly more than a little bit aggravating.

Just as he was about to run around the corner, towards the stairs leading up to the ICT rooms, the stranger turned around.

Sherlock.

But it couldn't be. It just couldn't. Sherlock was dead, and Adele had been telling herself this for weeks. So why was he here now? And more to the point, if he _were _alive, which he most certainly was _not_, why couldn't he just show himself, instead of leading her on a wild goose chase? It just didn't make any sense.

She had to keep running after him. That was instantly clear. She was so close to catching them, and she couldn't just give up now. Even if it did mean sneaking out of school and probably not achieving anything.

The stranger headed for one of the fire escapes. Adele actually had no idea where this one led, but he seemed to know the way. And considering that she was only following, it didn't particularly matter.

The stranger slid through the fire escape, and as Adele darted through behind him, she stumbled over her laces. As she regained her balance, the stranger left her line of sight. Damn.

'NO!'

Through the school car park, and out through the gate, which was slowly closing, but leaving plenty of space for the stranger and Adele to run through. Adele had absolutely no idea where they were going, but there was no time to read road signs and guess. Her map of London had disappeared along with her powers of deduction, so she wasn't in the most powerful position. The stranger led her through side streets and alleyways, changing direction when Adele least expected it.

And then she lost him.

As the stranger turned down one of the many side streets Adele had managed to forget existed, she lost him completely, having gotten further behind with each passing minute. Swearing to herself, Adele went through her pockets. Phone, keys to 221B, and her gun in her blazer. The phone tracker was with Eliza, who was at the school, however far away.

She was lost in London.

Oh dear.


	15. Chapter 17

**So, readers, this chapter was actually a one off, written by my AMAZING friend, IngridNixie.**

'Adele!'

But of course it was no use. Adele Holmes was stuck in a world of her own, and there was nothing Eliza could do about it. Hell, she probably didn't even think of her as more than a tool to get information about the school or something. Maybe not even that.

Eliza sighed. She'd probably get tired chasing after her anyway. Letting her eyes drift downwards lazily, she blinked. Adele's weird phone detector thing was still in her hand where the other girl had handed it to her, a location spelled out in thin red writing against the dully brown screen. Eliza sighed once more, but this time out of disgruntlement. She squared her shoulders and set off at a run in the direction Adele had just gone. It wasn't likely she would catch her, but Adele was likely to be annoyed if she hadn't tried, knowing that she had the detector.

Eliza followed the sound of what she hoped were Adele's footsteps echoing off the school walls, bouncing back to thud against her eardrums with every step she took. She pumped her legs forward. In the moment she had seen the detector lying in her palm, she had decided that she was _not_ going to be left behind. Not this time. Suddenly, Adele's once frantic footfalls ceased altogether. Eliza jumped to a halt and listened. But there was nothing to hear.

'Buggering hell.' She muttered scornfully between heavy breaths.

Her brain clicked into gear and she scolded herself for being such an idiot, when the solution was so painstakingly obvious. She caught herself and shook her head. There was no way… Okay. Fine. It was official. She had started thinking in Adele speak. She forced herself to concentrate and looked at the tracker once more. Slowly, she began to walk toward Adele's mysterious texter.

'NO!'

Eliza whipped her head up. The shout was loud, and short, and pained, and accompanied by a flurry of footsteps. Regardless of what she suspected were the beginnings of a stitch accumulating in the side of her stomach, Eliza set off once more. She was determined, absolutely _determined,_ to catch up with Adele, and damn all the consequences! Despite herself, she almost laughed. It couldn't be possible that she were enjoying the experience… could it? She would be in serious trouble. Hell, Adele had been hinting at the likelihood of her losing her life the whole way through their acquaintanceship. And yet.

Eliza turned a corner and saw a fire door bang shut heavily in front of her. There was a niggling little voice in the back of her head that was voicing every doubt she'd ever had about Adele and the situations she put her in, and Eliza knew that when the adrenaline high was over she'd have to answer to that voice. But as it was…

She crashed through the fire door and into a grey tarmac car park, presumably that of the school staff. At the other end of it, a man was heading for a great set of gates. The gap between them becoming smaller as the gates creaked shut, but it was still about the width of a car. Almost without realising it, Eliza slowed to a stop. About ten meters behind the man was Adele, her black hair tearing out behind her, her hands clenched tight into fists, her converse pounding against the tarmac.

'Adele!' Eliza practically screamed out.

But Adele didn't hear her. And before she knew it, she had disappeared through the gate. Eliza swore, and made to run again. Her foot caught. She flung her hands in front to save herself. But in doing so, dropped the detector to the ground.

'No!' She gasped as she sprung into a crouch, inspecting the rounded rectangular object. The screen was blank.

'No, no, NO!' She yelled in frustration, hitting the detector on its side. No use. She almost had tears in her eyes. She'd never catch them, not even if she ran as fast as a cheetah, or a car, or… something. But she'd still try. She looked up. The gate was still closing. But there could be time… Hauling herself to her feet and shoving the now useless instrument into her pocket, (_'Why didn't you think of doing that before, you stupid girl?'_ She thought in aggravation.) she began to run again. It was useless. Of course it was. By the time she'd got to the gate, both Adele and her prey were nowhere to be seen, and Eliza was all the worse for it, for the imagined stich had become a reality.

She staggered forwards into the gates as they clicked shut, clutching her left side breathlessly. She tried not to think about what the hell had happened to Adele, and instead concentrated on returning her breathing patterns to normal. It was about that time when she felt a hand drop down on her shoulder.

'Where is she?'

'I don't know.'

'Where was she going?'

'No idea.'

'I'll ask again. Do you know where she was going?'

'I'll paraphrase. I. Don't. Know.'

Okay. 'Paraphrase' was certainly a word she had never used before in her life, and Mr Hammet knew that. She just had to pray he wouldn't read anything into it.

Eliza had been sitting in her headmaster's office for at least twenty minutes now –or it felt like that- and he had basically repeated the same question over and over at her. She imagined him as a parrot, squawking and squawking that he knew "what's going on in that head". She remained as stiff as she could, and tried to keep her face as straight as possible. She could get through this. All she would have to do was stay calm, and resolute, maybe even a little sarcastic. She'd have to pretend she was Adele.

The headmaster gave a light chuckle, startling her a little.

'You are, very, _loyal_ to your little friend, aren't you?' He said, almost mockingly.

Eliza frowned. Okay, so she didn't retain information like Adele did, and maybe she didn't cotton on to things as quickly as other people, but as little friends as she had, she knew people. There was something in their voice, their demeanour; that just told you who they were, and what they wanted. And this wasn't teacher talking. This was something else.

'Adele wasn't my friend.' She said quickly, aiming to keep her voice devoid of emotion.

Mr Hammet looked at her, his face curious.

'Oh?' He asked

Eliza shrugged, taking the opportunity to look away from his beady hazel eyes.

'I showed her around on her first day, I spoke to her a couple of times; about her timetable, stuff like that. You probably don't know, Sir, but… I'm not very, err, socially inclined.'

'I see.'

The headmaster walked over to the window, where strips of sun shone through the slats in the blinds. He took one of the thin pieces of wood between his fore-finger and thumb and peered through the gap.

'Eliza?' He asked.

'Yes, Sir?' I asked, on guard again.

'If you hardly knew Miss Holmes, then why did you follow her?'

'I... I only followed because I saw her drop something.' Eliza said after a moment.

Mr Hammet turned to face her.

'Something?' He asked. With his face towards hers, the light from the window illuminated one side of his face, throwing the other in deep shadow.

'It looked a bit like a phone. I had it in my hand, but…' She felt around in her pockets, her fingers sliding over the broken tracker. Not only did she not want to dob Adele in, but that little sinister note in his voice had put her off the headmaster completely, and she was adamant that she would not tell him anything she thought worth knowing.

'It's not on me now. I must've dropped it when I was running after her.' She lied, then put on her best "helpful student" voice. 'It might be in the car park somewhere.'

'Mm.' The teacher said complacently. He looked thoughtful, but evidently not about the untruths she had just told him. Eliza decided to take this as a bad thing.

'Sir?' She asked after a moment.

'Hm?'

'Sir, can I go now?'

'What? Oh, yes, yes. Certainly… Go…'

Eliza rose from her seat and walked to the door.

'Oh, and Eliza?'

Her stomach clenched as she turned her head to face him.

'Don't even _think_ about going looking for her.'

With a jerk of the head that could neither be construed as a yes or a no, Eliza shot out of the room.


	16. Chapter 16

**All the chapter numbers are messed up now, because I deleted stuff by accident and re - uploaded it. Sorry! Anyway, this is chapter 16/17 (Even I'm not sure).**

**This chapter took an awful lot of depressing music to write. Honestly, I made myself cry. 'Breakeven' and 'The Man That Can't Be Moved' by The Script was just on replay on my laptop. So yeah, I've upset myself writing this, but I'm actually rather proud of it. TTYL :)**

* * *

><p><strong>Policeman says, "Son you can't stay here"<strong>  
><strong>I said, "There's someone I'm waiting for if it's a day, a month, a year"<strong>  
><strong>Gotta stand my ground even if it rains or snows<strong>  
><strong>If she changes her mind this is the first place she will go<strong>

**Oh, how The Script have helped me finish this! I think this bit of 'The Man Who Can't Be Moved' works well with the chapter.**

* * *

><p>Adele woke to find several texts registered on her phone. Well, she said woke. Adele hadn't really slept at all the previous night, so it was more like she was jolted out of her thoughts. Not that those thoughts had been particularly important. She checked the texts, noticing that all but one happened to be from Eliza;<p>

_Dropped it, smashed. Sorry._

That would be the tracker. Adele checked the next text;

_And I don't care how long it is, I just defended you in front of Mr Hammet, I think I have a right to know._

Well, Eliza probably _did_ have a right to know what had happened, but Adele wasn't necessarily going to admit that. And explaining to Eliza would take most of the day, considering that Eliza interrupted her most of the time, and Adele was easily distracted by texts and other occurrences. She would just have to tell Eliza that she went to see Lestrade, and played chess with John. No need to tell her exactly _what _happened with Lestrade, Anderson, and Sally Donovan, or that she had gotten lost in London.

The third text was from Eliza _again_. Adele didn't know how she stopped herself from strangling the girl;

_Can't you answer your bloody phone?_

Adele frowned and checked her missed calls. All from Eliza's number. Adele didn't do calls anymore, not since the jump. Texting was easier too. And you could avoid Mycroft.

She checked the one from Sherlock's number. These texts weren't surprising anymore, but rather a bit annoying, occurring at points where Adele would rather they didn't;

_You're getting slower. Mr Hammet is not all he seems._

_SH_

And now whoever it was had decided to confuse her even more. So, the headmaster wasn't what she thought he was. But then again, what _did_ she think he was? Adele wasn't entirely sure. Maybe he was in league with the texter. Maybe he was part of Moriarty's organisation. But the first theory was far more likely. First, he had clearly stated that he knew what was going on. But he could be _both_. What if the texter was one of Moriarty's men? Of course, that meant that Adele would be pretty much walking to her death on Wednesday, unless she could talk them out of killing her.

At school, Eliza seemed to have forgiven her for running off, although to compensate she was keeping up a constant stream of questions.

'Are you alright?'

'I'm fine.'

'Are you sure? You look – '

'Pale? I guessed. I'm fine.'

'Are you – '

Finally, Adele snapped.

'Eliza, I don't mean to be rude, but _please_ shut up.'

Eliza didn't appear hurt. Just shocked.

'You're not alright, are you?'

Adele sighed.

'Would you be? If your best friend, mentor, practically father figure, jumped to his death _in front of you_, with no explanation? If you were catapulted into _this place_, sent anonymous texts, _and_ had to figure out what they meant? Would you honestly be _fine_?'

And now Eliza was speechless.

'You could have left me alone after a week. You chose to stay. I wouldn't be so surprised, if I were you.'

'Adele, you really need help.'

'State the obvious, why don't you? I don't need help, I need to find out who's sending these _bloody_ texts and kill them. Help is the last thing on my mind.'

'You want to murder someone. And you say you don't need help?'

'I've wanted to murder certain people for a long time.'

Eliza had nothing to say to that. Adele was surprised. Anyone who spent more than ten minutes with her could realise that she didn't think normally. She thought systematically, and if killing made her achieve her goals, then so be it.

School passed slowly, every minute ticking by as though it were an hour. As soon as the final bell went, Adele made for the station. Once there, she took the train, not to Baker Street, but to St Barts. In what felt like no time at all, she was there on the roof.

Standing at the edge, Adele almost felt relieved. At least when Sherlock had stood here, he had seen the view. You could see for miles, and pinpoint various locations. Adele could see Baker Street, and imagined John sitting there. He had no idea that she was here, no idea what she was thinking.

It would be so easy. And then she would see Sherlock. Less than a minute, and then she wouldn't have to think about it. Standing there, it felt easy. A gust of wind blew her hair across her face. Adele wavered on the edge. There weren't many people who would miss her. Two, possibly three at the most. One step, that was all it would take.

But what would happen to John? He would be upset, of course, possibly devastated. Two people in less than a month. But he would be alright, after a while. He was strong. He was coping now, better than she was, anyway. _He_ wasn't standing on the edge of the same roof Sherlock had jumped from.

Eliza would find out from the papers. She wouldn't understand, of course, but who would? She'd certainly get over it. Or at least, move on fairly quickly.

Adele had always known that Sherlock might not entirely keep his promise. She had been right, because of course, in light of recent events, he sort of had. But she had stopped caring ages ago, and there were much worse things out there. Although she hadn't been dealing with them very well.

What did she have to live for, anyway? There wasn't anything interesting, she didn't have any friends (apart from Eliza, who followed her around like a puppy), and she was generally regarded as a complete weirdo.

And there was Lestrade. Alright, so they got along, certainly much better than you would expect, but he would just treat it like Sherlock's case. Except minus closing it and carrying out his own. But either way, he would deal with it. Most people would. Sergeant Donovan would be indifferent (although Adele didn't really care what she thought), and Mycroft… Well, Mycroft thought she was mad anyway, it wouldn't be much of a surprise.

One step… Another gust of wind. She stood on tip – toes, rocking back on forth, from heel to toe. It was incredibly easy, and there was no one to stop her. Or so she thought.

'Adele!'

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned her head. Lestrade.

'C'mon. Get down. Your being stupid now.'

Adele didn't move. It was as though she was frozen on the spot. She could easily shake Lestrade off, and go ahead. He tugged on her shoulder, but she stayed put.

'I don't know whether you're trying to make a point, or you're really serious about this. Just _get down_.'

He really sounded worried. Slowly, Adele stepped down. She could feel the tears running down her cheeks now. She hadn't cried in years, and it felt almost alien to her.

'Sit down, you… Jesus, Adele, really? Why?'

Adele just shook her head.

'Calm down, it's alright now. You just need to… Can you _try_ to explain?'

Adele now felt dizzy. She slid down to the floor, and put her head on her knees. She shook her head again. She was actually crying.

'He wouldn't want to see you like this.'

Adele felt numb now. It might have been a summer's day, but it was colder on the roof.

'Adele, you need to explain.'

'I… I can't.'

'You need to talk to John.'

Adele shook her head.

'You do. Sit down; you're as white as a sheet.'

Adele didn't know how long she sat there. It was a fair amount of time, because the sky was starting to darken, and the temperature grew colder with each passing minute. She could feel the tears on her cheeks and the wind on her face.

'C'mon, you can't stay here forever.'

Lestrade helped her to her feet, and steered her through the hospital, and outside, where he had parked his car. A short drive and they were outside 221B Baker Street.

'Breath, Adele. It's going to be okay.'


	17. Chapter 17 REAL

John answered the door almost immediately, and looked pretty shocked to see Lestrade there as well. He let them in, watching Adele, as though he knew that there was something wrong. Then again, it wasn't every day that she turned up with Lestrade.

In the living room, Lestrade raised his eyebrows at Adele, and turned to John;

'Can I have a quick word?'

Adele muttered something about a book and practically ran to her room. She left the door slightly ajar, as so to hear what was being said.

'…Found her on the roof, must have been about an hour or two ago.'

'What was she doing up there?'

'On the ledge, John.'

'Oh God… She wasn't going to, was she?'

'Wouldn't say. Took me ages to get her down, she was in tears. White as a sheet too.'

'How long d'you reckon she'd been there?'

'Quite a while. It definitely crossed her mind, _but_ she was hesitating.'

'Why though? Why would she do that?'

'Might have been trying to make a point. Or she was serious.'

'How did she react when you got her down?'

'Like I said, in tears, pale. Hysterical, really. I found her an hour or two ago, and she just sat there a cried.'

'Bloody hell…'

'She wouldn't tell me anything. I wouldn't trust her alone for a few days, she might do something stupid. Actually, I've been thinking…' He lowered his voice. 'She has that gun on her, all the time. She could have just used that. Maybe she didn't really know. Maybe she wasn't sure.'

'I'll try to talk to her. I'm not letting her out of this flat until I'm sure though, but that'll involve a couple of calls…'

'Leave it to me. I need to go; I'm needed back at Scotland Yard. I'll sort it out as soon as I get back.'

'Thanks. Thank God you found her, I… Bloody hell, this'll take some time to get my head around.'

'No problem, it was chance. Luck.'

Adele heard Lestrade leave. She lay there on her bed, staring at the ceiling for several minutes. Then –

'Adele?'

She got up, slowly and carefully, and made her way to the living room. John didn't look angry, more upset.

'Do you want to explain now, or later?'

'Never.'

'Now, or later?'

'Later.'

'Right then. You're staying here for a few days; I'm not stupid enough to let you out on our own after that.'

'Fine then.'

John seemed satisfied with this, although he frowned when she turned around to walk back to her room.

'Give me the gun, Adele.'

'What?'

'You know. Give me the gun.'

Adele sighed, but didn't protest. She pulled the gun from her blazer, removed the bullets, and gave it to John.

'Bullets too. I'm not an idiot, you know.'

'You know full well I wouldn't shoot myself.'

'After all of this, I'm not trusting you near anything remotely dangerous. Not even the kitchen, understand?'

'I'm not _that_ desperate.'

John sighed.

'Sit.' He pointed to the sofa, and Adele threw herself down.

'Have a go at explaining, at least.'

'I thought you said later?'

'And I've changed my mind.'

Adele rolled her eyes.

'We can't avoid it forever.'

'I don't know.'

'Please, Adele. You need to.'

Silence.

'They call me a freak, John. Crazy. Psychopath. Weird. Sherlock used to stop them. And now it's all back again, and no one stops. Just because I know stuff. Just because I don't socialise. Just because I'm different. That's all I've ever known John, but it's not _nice_ to know. I've only ever known my life with him, and I always thought it was so much better than my old one. And ever since he jumped, it's been worse. All the flashbacks too. Every bit of it. And if I'd stepped off that edge earlier, I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. I have three friends at the most. You, Lestrade, and Mrs Hudson. And nothing's ever going to be the same as it was, and I don't want to face it anymore.'

John looked shocked. Which was a pretty common sight when she spoke these days.

'You could have said something. I'm a doctor.'

'Not the right sort. Anyway, I hate therapists.'

'Adele, it doesn't matter, you still could have spoken to me.'

'Sorry.' There wasn't really anything else that Adele wanted to say. She wanted to curl up in a ball and never leave the darkness of her room, but she had a feeling that John would be watching her for a few days. Hopefully it wouldn't collide with her plans for Wednesday, but she could never be sure. If she acted vaguely normally, she might be able to shake John off beforehand.

'It's not your fault.' John could see that Adele was close to crying again.

'That's what they all say.'

At that moment, John's phone started to ring. Adele glanced at it before he picked up, and saw that it was Lestrade. She took the hint and darted back to her room, once again leaving the door open enough for her to hear what was being said. Although it wouldn't be particularly interesting.

'… Thanks again… No, I've had a word, it's hard to explain… I took her gun, and the bullets, just in case, but I don't think she'll do anything… Three days, then I'll take her back… Alright, bye.'

Three days. If she 'behaved' for that long, she would be back at Hammersmith, and able to investigate that headmaster. Suddenly, a text interrupted her;

_Running away? Really? Not like you to admit defeat._

_SH_

It wasn't exactly as though she had run away. So the texter didn't know what had happened on the roof. Only that she was here. Interesting.

So either they weren't watching her constantly, which differed from her first impressions, or they weren't revealing how much they knew.

That night, Adele went to bed confused. Well, confused and upset. For the second time in her life, she cried herself to sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

Adele didn't register much of that morning, and only stated noticing things at around eleven. Although there wasn't much _too_ notice. All Adele had done since she had gotten up was sit on the sofa with her chin on her knees, staring at her phone. John was ever keen to get her into conversation, but Adele could barely string a sentence together, let alone talk to John coherently. It was clear that he was observing her, but there wasn't much to see. And what you could see spoke for itself. Adele knew full well that she looked like a miserable little git, but she was past the point of caring.

Out of the blue, Adele's phone went mad, buzzing and ringing, the alert light flashing. Her head snapped up, as did John's. For a moment, Adele that John was going to take it, but he nodded to her, as if she now needed his permission to check her own phone. She grabbed it, hoping for a text from the stranger, but was instead faced with Eliza's number;

_Where are you? _

Of course. Adele hadn't spoken to Eliza for most of the previous day, and had rushed off after school. Eliza deserved some explanation, but Adele decided to leave out the bit about the roof;

_John's worried, keeping me at Baker Street for a few days. Won't be back at school until Monday at this rate._

_Adele_

Adele also put her phone on silent, as so not to draw attention to it every time she received a text. This, she discovered, was going to be rather frequently. Another text arrived only a minute later;

_Why? _

And there went the questions;

_Long story. _

_Adele_

Eliza was sure to text back soon, which was sure to get annoying after a while. And it did. Within ten minutes, Eliza had texted her no fewer than five times, all asking why she wasn't at school. Finally, Adele got fed up and texted her back;

_Look, I won't be back until Monday, and I can't and won't tell you why. If you're that desperate, find Lestrade, he'll be almost too happy to fill you in._

_Adele_

Why couldn't Eliza leave her alone? Adele certainly had enough to occupy herself at the moment, plus texts from her lovely stranger, and that bloody headmaster.

_Fine, but I want some sort of explanation on Monday; Mr Hammet is asking me every time I see him. It's not easy to think of an excuse for you if I don't have a real reason._

So now Adele would have to tell Eliza why she wasn't at school. Well, she had three days, and she would be spending all of those cooped up here at Baker Street. Under normal circumstances, she would be pleased, but she had to investigate the headmaster before Wednesday, and when she got back she would only have three days.

Suddenly, John stood up. Adele raised her eyebrows at him, to which he frowned at her.

'I'm going out for ten minutes. Do you think you can behave yourself until then?'

Adele rolled her eyes;

'I promise not to shoot myself or blow up the flat. Oh, and I won't jump off any buildings either. Have a nice time.'

'Adele I'm serious. Promise.'

'Fine.'

'And Mrs Hudson knows exactly why you're here.'

'You worry too much.'

'And why do you think that is, Adele? Maybe that fact that you tried to jump off a building, do you think?'

'Not good?'

John practically exploded.

'Not good at all, Adele! You need to realise the seriousness of the situation! I can't follow you around constantly, making sure you're okay!'

'I'm fine! You don't have too; it's your own bloody choice!'

'You're not fine. And I wish you would see it yourself instead of having me tell you.'

With that John left, leaving Adele alone in the silence of the flat. In a fit of anger, she threw one of the spare chess pieces at the wall. The throw was so weak that the piece didn't leave a dent, let alone shatter as Adele had been hoping. Swearing, she got up and shoved it forcefully onto the chess table, knocking over several other pieces. Oh well.

Adele remembered the last time something like this had happened. Not the jumping off buildings thing, that was new. The rage thing. She didn't have the faintest clue of how it started, but knew that Sherlock had told her to either calm herself down, or he would give her the tablets. That hadn't helped, so he moved to the next threat. Calm down, or he would knock her out with his bare hands. Although, even in her state Adele had known that he wouldn't do that. Also, she would go psycho on him. So he tried again. Calm down, or no crime scenes for a month. And he meant it that time. The other times he would just give her the tablets and sternly tell her to take them, or go to her room. But he knew they didn't help anymore, and that she didn't like them, so he used the ultimate threat. He would leave her here while he went out investigating. That made her take the tablets. Although she hadn't taken them since, instead crushing them under her foot when Sherlock wasn't looking.

John returned nine minutes after he had left.

'That's for you.' He said, handing her a book.

Adele glanced at it.

'Richard Dawkins. Why?'

'You always complain about needing something to read. Now you've got something.'

'I know all this stuff.'

'Well, further your knowledge.'

'Is this a distraction? 'Cause it won't work.'

'Adele, don't argue. Read the book, and if you don't like it, fine.'

Adele scowled, flicking the pages of the book. It looked interesting enough, but she had better things to do, rather than read. Still, it wasn't like she could do any of these things for another three days.

The rest of the day was spent in silence, aside from the turning of pages, John getting up every so often and the sound of his laptop keys. The day passed painfully slowly, and Adele was incredibly thankful when nine o' clock came, and she was able to go to her room.

For once, Adele actually slept. Possibly it was because she was mentally exhausted, and hadn't had _any_ sleep for just about ages. But Adele wasn't particularly bothered by this. Sleep had never been high on her list of priorities, so she had been going without it as though that were perfectly normal. Sometimes she would draw, others just go through texts. She spent most of the time reading, which after a while hurt her eyes, from trying to see the tiny words in the dark.

Unfortunately, Adele didn't sleep for very long. She woke up suddenly after another flashback, in semi darkness and Sherlock's face still in front of her eyes. Adele flinched, shaking her head as though it would rid her mind of anything that she had just seen. Of course, it wouldn't.

Suddenly, she remembered the picture. It was from years ago, at least eight, when she was six. Adele knew exactly where Sherlock had kept it. The question was, _was it still there?_

Adele knew that John would have gone to bed by now. He probably wouldn't hear her if she was _really_ quiet, even on the dodgy floorboards. Adele crept out of her room, and into Sherlock's old one, which had been left exactly the way it used to be. Under the bed was a box, with several old bits of paper (Adele had only once asked what they were; She had been given a look which told her to pretty much shut up), cigarettes, rosin for Sherlock's violin bow and three pictures. One was Adele aged four, smiling, for once. She didn't remember this one being taken, but it wasn't long after Sherlock had taken her in. So of course she would be smiling. Who wouldn't?

Another picture was Adele and Sherlock, when Adele was twelve. Once again, Lestrade had taken this picture, so Adele had been extremely annoyed, and not spoken to him for the rest of the day, instead chanting _'I know something you don't know…' _whenever he was within earshot. Lestrade had promised not to take anymore pictures if she told him what it was.

The picture Adele was looking for was right at the bottom of the box, under all the other stuff.

It was Christmas. Sherlock had invited Lestrade and Molly over (or Lestrade had invited _himself_ over. One of the two), ad had decided that Adele looked rather bored, while the adults talked about 'boring' stuff. To remedy that, as he put it, Sherlock had unearthed some tinsel, and tied up her hair in two little bunches. This had been when she preferred it short, so Sherlock had struggled to get it tied up without Adele yelling at him. He had managed it, somehow, and as soon as he had, Adele had sprung up from the sofa and climbed onto his back, tugging at _his_ hair. He had gotten her off, and in a rare moment of Adele being completely still, Lestrade had taken a picture. She hadn't realised until Sherlock, amused by Adele's expression of disgust at the shining things in her hair, had gotten the photo printed. It was A5, so Adele could easily roll it up and put it in her pocket. It felt almost comforting to have the paper there.

Back in her room, Adele took the picture out again. Sherlock was laughing, and tousling her hair at the same. She was scowling at the camera, having only just realised that Lestrade was taking the picture. She smiled sadly to herself. Things would never go back to the way they were, and she was foolish to hope they would.

They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger; Adele must have died hundreds of times over.


	19. Chapter 19

John spent an awful lot of the next two days trying to get Adele to talk to him. Adele point blank refused to say more than a few sentences, making him look as though he was talking to himself. Ha.

At around half past one on Saturday afternoon, Mycroft decided to make an appearance. John let him in, much to Adele's disgust. Her current opinion of Mycroft was rather low, all things considered. As soon as Mycroft saw her in the living room, he raised his eyebrows at her.

'Good to see you too, Mycroft.'

'Sarcasm is – '

'_Please_ say something different, Mycroft.'

'Sarcasm is not the highest form of wit.'

Adele laughed.

'I knew I'd asked too much.'

Clearly Mycroft didn't like it when people took a stab at his intelligence levels.

'I heard about your little adventure on the roof, Miss Holmes.'

Adele threw John a look, which caused him to lower his head.

'And? Mycroft, if you have nothing better to do than give me another lecture, I feel sorry for you.'

'I hardly feel that you should be worrying about other people at the moment.'

Maybe there was some truth in _that_.

'Yeah, well.' Adele muttered, glancing at her phone. Mycroft noticed this.

'Expecting a call?'

'Only people like you call, Mycroft. People living in the twenty – first century text.'

'Expecting a text?'

'None of your business.'

'Adele.' John had spoken, with warning in his voice.

'No, no, it's fine. Children.' Mycroft shook his head, patronisingly.

'I'm not a _child_, Mycroft.'

Mycroft chuckled.

'I'll see myself out, John. Miss Holmes.'

He turned and walked towards the door. Suddenly, Mycroft turned around, and pointed his umbrella at Adele.

'He did care, Miss Holmes. If you had only listened, you would know. He told us about you before. He wanted to help. Not everyone agreed with him, but if you had seen how he changed, I doubt you would have opposed him. He was miserable before… And you clearly changed that.'

Adele didn't know what to say. It wasn't as though she could confirm that with Sherlock himself, could she? Mycroft was probably just saying it to be nice, although there had been a hint of emotion in his voice… And since when had Mycroft ever been nice to her? Every time they met, both displayed obvious signs of disgust at the others presence.

Mycroft left, leaving John dumbfounded, and Adele staring at her phone.

'He was right, you know.'

Adele looked at John sceptically. She hadn't looked at him properly for weeks, and realised how much she had missed;

John's woollen jumper had pieces of thread hanging out, and it was the same one he had been wearing last week. His trousers had holes in the knees, and his shoes, which were normally clean and polished, were scuffed and worn. There were bags under his eyes, and he was unusually pale. His eyes had lost their brightness, and he looked downright ill. Adele suddenly didn't have the heart to argue with him. John usually looked stronger, the one who comforted you, and pointed out the good rather than the bad. Now he just looked plain.

'No he wasn't.'

'Why?'

'Because… He just wasn't. I can't explain it.' Adele replied flatly.

'Because you're wrong, Adele. Sherlock really cared. He said so himself.' John's voice was soft, but Adele knew that he would become harsh if she challenged him.

'Yeah well… He was one of about four.'

'You didn't let anyone else talk to you.'

'John there are plenty of reasons for that. Social skills aren't my forte.'

'Make them your forte.'

'It's not that simple.' Adele noticed that she was messing around with the bracelet again. She forced her hand away from her left wrist, and absent mindedly began to roll her sleeves up. She didn't really like having them rolled up, and only did so in the middle of summer, when it was too hot not to. John glanced at her suspiciously.

'Are we done with the third degree now?' Adele tried to put a hint of annoyance into her voice.

John was clearly more interested in her sleeves.

'What's that?'

Adele raised her eyebrows.

'What?'

'On your arm.'

Adele let her eyes flicker to her right arm. Ah.

'Nothing.'

Now it was John's turn to raise _his_ eyebrows.

'You wouldn't say that unless you were hiding something.'

'I'm not hiding anything.'

'Then what is it?'

Adele thought quickly. She hated lying to John, but it had to be done.

'Pen. I was drawing earlier.'

John clearly didn't believe that, but he didn't question her further. Adele resolved to keep her sleeves rolled down for the next few days, until she was back in Hammersmith. Although, British weather was so temperamental that it was unlikely to be warm again for a few weeks.

The marks on Adele's arm were _not_ pen. Adele didn't think about them, it wasn't really something she wanted to remember. She didn't _like_ having them there, but her messed up head had deemed it a good idea at the time, so it had just happened.

A text from Eliza jolted her back into the real world;

_You still off?_

Adele left it. If Eliza was that desperate, she would blow up her phone with texts first. Unsurprisingly, that was precisely what she did;

_I think I might know something about your texter._

Oh dear;

What? How?

-Adele

This time it took much longer for Eliza to reply. Frustrated, Adele texted her again;

Eliza. Tell me. Now.

-Adele

Eliza texted back quicker;

The detector started working.

But you said that it smashed?

-Adele

I just meant that it was broken. Anyway, I followed the signal and I'm tailing some guy.

Eliza, get away from there, you're being stupid. You could get yourself killed.

-Adele

Oh, you care now, do you?

Eliza, there are killers out there.

Adele realised that she hadn't typed out her name after the last text. Maybe she was losing the habit. Or she really cared. Shaking her head, she decided to go with habit loss.

Another man's come in. They're chatting.

What does he look like?

-Adele

I can't see his face.

Try.

-Adele

Okay, they just referred to Sherlock as 'the pest'.

Now that was downright insulting.

And the new one didn't know he was dead.

Eliza, get out of there.

-Adele

New guy just said he lives through something called 'the network', and then the first one said he's used to covering his tracks.

Eliza, if they're talking about Sherlock, they're probably something to do with Moriarty's assassins.

-Adele

I know, that's why I'm still listening.

Eliza! I am telling you to get out!

-Adele

I think they're talking about Moriarty.

This time, Adele didn't realise that Eliza had replied until a second text came through.

Saw his face. It's Hammet. As in Headmaster Hammet, our headmaster, Mr Hammet.

How can you be sure? Look again.

-Adele

Well, I can't very well do that now, can I?

What?

-Adele

And now Eliza wasn't replying. Idiot.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 15/16? Yeah, turns out that wasn't a one off. But hey, IngridNixie was kind enough to write it for me, and it's really good, so it's here. I hope you enjoy, and if you go and check out her profile, there's some virtual cookies waiting. Enjoy. I insist.**

* * *

><p>Eliza turned the device over in her hands, inspecting it, her face haggard with confusion. It looked sturdy enough to withstand the fall. She sighed.<p>

'_And yet.'_

She attempted pressing the few buttons that lay below the screen, but to no avail. She wondered how it worked. Was it like a phone? She flipped it over and searched its shell for the millionth time, looking for any small mark she may have missed. She thought of Adele, deciphering every tiny scratch and finding out so much from each of them. Or she imagined she would. Regardless of her cleverness, she had never seen Adele do something like that. But she supposed she could. She was the tabloids' 'Kid genius' after all, present at any and all of Sherlock Holmes' cases.

Eliza sighed in disgruntlement and dumped the tracer down beside her. It bounced and then fell with a dull thud onto her bedclothes. She rested her chin on the heels of her hands and stared out over her room, her eyes unfocused. The room was painted pale pink, the first and only time it had been painted by her family, with her 2-year-old self in mind. On the wooden slats of the floor lay her school bag, books and papers spilling from it. A set of Barbie roller-skates from when she was about seven sat forgotten in the corner. Her tie and school blazer sat on a wooden chair, where they had been flung moments before. A desk of the same wood and character as the chair was positioned at the side of the room, holding stacks of paper and pots of pencils and pens, quite an extensive collection of headbands with colourful designs that varied from polka dots to strawberries, and a small cardboard box of pills. Eliza sat on her bed, clothed in Winnie the Pooh covers, dating back to her 5th birthday.

Sighing once more, she got up from her bed and made for the door, ignoring the mess on her floor. Her room was the only place of any sort of mess and non-conformity in the house, and she intended to keep it that way. Pausing, she picked up her blazer, pulled it on, and shoved the detector into her pocket. If the texter had managed to get Adele's phone without even _her_ realising it, she would feel foolish to take any chances.

She hesitated at the door, and took a breath before opening it, slowly, carefully, without a sound. Once both feet were outside the room, she listened carefully. Affirming herself that no one –besides maybe Kitty- was downstairs. She walked down with a relative spring in her step. (The alternative being one of absolute trepidation and freezing whenever she made any sort of noise).

Kitty was indeed sitting in the kitchen when Eliza arrived. She made sure to alert the older girl of her presence by standing before her and giving her a wave and smile. Kitty returned this with as much of a smile as she could manage, and a little wave. Eliza grinned at this, and turned to the fridge. As she bent down, she heard the familiar sound of Kitty banging on the kitchen counter. She turned to look at her sister questioningly. Kitty looked at her meaningfully and gestured emphatically to Eliza's skirt. Eliza looked down and straightened where the skirt had become dishevelled, but immediately sprung up to face her older sister.

'_Calm down.' _She signed to the brunette girl, before turning back to the fridge.

'No.' Kitty said defiantly.

Eliza started, unaccustomed to hearing Kitty's voice. She looked at her meaningfully.

'_Don't try and talk, Kitty.' _She signed, using the movement for 'kitten' as her sister's name.

She moved to turn, but Kitty thudded on the table with her hands, limp as they were.

'_You don't have to do that.'_ She signed. _'I can lip-read fine.'_

Eliza signed back.

'_I learned it, I may aswell use it.'_

She took a yoghurt pot from the fridge, and a spoon from the drawer. Moving toward Kitty, she spoke.

'And you're weak.'

Kitty concentrated for a moment on her mouth, and then tutted.

Eliza set the yoghurt pot and spoon down and signed.

'_You shouldn't need to focus that much. And stop banging on the table!'_

Kitty looked at her.

'_I focus too much anyway.' _She signed.

Eliza laughed a little. Kitty saw this and smiled too. Eliza sat down and peeled off the lid of the yoghurt. In silence, she fed her sister the puréed substance. Once Kitty had finished the last spoonful and Eliza dumped the pot and lid in the bin and washed the spoon, the younger sat back down and signed the question both of them had been waiting for.

'_Didn't Mum come home?' _She asked.

Kitty sighed and shook her head in answer. Eliza smiled thinly, but refused to let them relapse into figurative silence, as was so often the norm.

'_But Charlotte's coming tomorrow, right?' _She asked.

Kitty rolled her eyes. _'I don't like her.'_

Eliza narrowed her eyes in concern and confusion. When Kitty didn't explain, she prodded her arm and signed.

'_What happened?' _She probed.

Kitty sighed and rolled her eyes again.

'_She tried to change my bandage.' _She signed, and Eliza knew exactly the kind of teenage tone that would appear could Kitty manage it. She shook her head.

'Well, she's a nurse, so she wouldn't change it if there wasn't any reason to change it.' She widened her eyes around the word 'reason'.

Kitty shifted in her seat, then signed without looking at Eliza.

'I may have taken it off.'

Eliza hung her head back in frustration.

'Kitty!' She moaned out loud while signing 'kitten'.

'I don't see why I have to wear it.'

'Really? You can see no reason why your hand should stay supported? Really?'

Kitty waved her hands in front of her face frantically as her head started to jerk around. Eliza's anger evaporated, replaced with action. She got up, clasped her hands on Kitty's shoulders and blew slowly onto her face. The older girl froze and squeezed her eyes shut profusely. Eliza tucked a strand of hair out of Kitty's face and smiled as the other lowered her arms. Kitty opened her eyes. She looked around at the clock and raised her eyebrows. Eliza nodded.

'Time.' She signed. She leant down and kissed her sister's forehead, before pulling her up off her chair and leading her to her room.

Eliza slept less than usual that night, and that was saying something. She found herself awake even as her mother entered the house, but tried as hard as she could to give the appearance of sleep, lest her mother should enter the room. As it was, she did not, but try as she might Eliza could not close her eyes for more than a second. Her whole body seemed gripped with fear, like someone was watching her, waiting for her to fall asleep. It reminded her… but no. She refused to think about that. She balled up her fists. She was the strong one. Even alone, she refused to cry.

And then, as if a life jacket had been thrown her way, a tinny beeping noise sounded. Eliza jumped up in bed and scrabbled under her pillow for the plastic and metal cuboid beneath it.

Following the night of no sleep, Eliza was even surer than she had been previously. She was not going to be attending school today. And hang the consequences. Well, maybe hang the consequences. She was still a little bit hesitant about that part, the perfect attendance, never been in detention side of her brain speaking up.

As she dressed, she realised that this was probably one of the only times she had worn casual dress on a weekday. In the last four years, certainly. As such, her clothing was probably better suited to a ten year old than herself, but at least it still fitted. She pulled at the folds of the yellow synthetic fibered dress uncomfortably, but it was the only thing whose skirt wasn't too short, even over the blue and green stripy tights she had forced her legs into. She pulled a blue hoodie around her resolutely, to hide the bunny motif on the front of the dress. It must've been baggy when she was younger, and for this she was grateful. She slipped the detector into one of the dress's deep pockets and deposited her phone into the other. She rolled up her sleeves and turned towards the door. As she started for it, her eyes fell onto the toppling pile of headbands on her desk. Smiling a little to herself, she picked up a bright yellow plastic one and smoothed it onto her head.

As quietly as possible, she opened her door and listened. Satisfied that her mother was gone once again, she stepped out, the school pumps on her feet making a faint sound, if any, on the carpet. She walked the few steps it took to get to Kitty's room and peeked in through the door. Kitty had her breathing aid on, and it was unlikely she would rouse any time soon. Careful not to disturb any of the equipment that crowded Kitty's room, Eliza crossed to where her sister lay, planting a small kiss on her forehead. Kitty continued sleeping, oblivious.

With a low, heavy breath, Eliza stood up and withdrew from the room, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid tears. She trotted down the stairs into the hall, but paused as she caught herself in the hallway mirror. She pulled at her dress self-consciously, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Taking a breath to convince herself this was the right thing to do, she walked out of the house.

According to the detector, the texter was hanging about in Wood green. The train journey was longer than she had expected, but then again, the last couple of times she had taken the train had been with Adele, and in that situation she was far to occupied with asking Adele questions about what exactly they were doing and why. By the time she was off the tube and the detector had a chance to pick up a signal, the texter had moved a few streets. She ran to catch them up, deciding next time a bus might be the best option. She found herself in a park, probably looking incredibly conspicuous. The yellow headband was starting to hurt her head a little, and it gave her a weird feeling of nostalgia.

Shaking her head to ward off such feelings, she scanned the park. She had put the detector into her pocket again, and realised now that if she took it out again her cover would be tremendously blown. Instead she looked about her for someone of a remotely suspicious seeming nature. There was a woman with two small children, a man with a long nose and a pinstripe suit with an umbrella next to him, looking extremely wary of the tramp on the bench beside him. Hesitantly, she walked further into the park, trying to look sure of herself, lest the texter be watching her.

Still utterly unsure, she moved closer to the bench. In terms of secret assassins, or whatever Adele had in mind for the identity of the texting person, the man in the suit seemed her best bet. When she got within about five feet of the bench however, a tone sounded from the pocket of said suit-clad stranger. She froze. The man pulled a phone from his pocket and looked over the text, and as he read his expression of concentration turned to amusement. He got up from his seat and, swinging his umbrella beside him, removed himself from the park. Eliza waited a moment before following, doing her best to ignore the look of concern the mother of two was sending her way. No doubt the woman was confused, but Eliza had better things to do than cater to the whims of a woman with a misguided maternal instinct. She started, then shook her head.

'Seriously?' She asked herself. 'You're going to turn into her at this rate.'

Still disoriented and a little bit confused, she quickened her pace in order to catch up with the man. For all the irritation it produced, she was glad of the headband keeping hair out of her face, for the wind quickened as the man's pace did. She followed until he reached a café and stepped inside. Furrowing her brows, she entered after him, taking up a table a little way away from his.

As the man lifted a menu and concealed his face, Eliza pulled the detector from her pocket and sneaked a look at it. The little light was right where she was, completely covering the 'You are here' marker. A cough sounded above her. She slipped the detector back into her pocket and looked up as she did so. A short, blonde waitress was standing over her, eyeing her suspiciously.

'Oh, um- coffee, please.' Eliza said quickly. She did not now nor ever had drunk coffee, but it seemed a relatively normal thing to say in a café.

'Shouldn't you be in school?' The waitress asked.

Eliza rolled her eyes, trying to look as disgruntled as possible.

'Yeah, I'm twenty-four.' She seethed, seemingly incredibly annoyed.

The waitress looked a little taken aback, but apologised and went off with Eliza's menu. Eliza couldn't help but smile a little to herself. She may not be clever, but she was tremendously good at lying. She'd had a lot of practice. With the sudden realisation that she hadn't texted Adele since she told her she wasn't going to be in until Monday, she pulled her phone from her pocket and began tapping away.

You still off?

Knowing Adele would not reply to this, she immediately began another.

I think I might know something about your texter.

This time, she barely had to wait 30 seconds before Adele texted back.

What? How?

-Adele

Eliza grinned. She quite liked having Adele under her thumb. After a moment of contemplation, she decided to enjoy the feeling while it lasted, and refrained from texting Adele again until her phone buzzed once more.

Eliza. Tell me. Now.

-Adele

She contemplated leaving it even further, but ultimately reasoned that was too harsh.

The detector started working.

But you said that it smashed?

-Adele

I just meant that it was broken. Anyway, I followed the signal and I'm tailing some guy.

Eliza, get away from there, you're being stupid. You could get yourself killed.

-Adele

Oh, you care now, do you?

Eliza, there are killers out there.

In the last text, Adele did not type her name out afterwards. Apparently she had just wanted to get the message across. At this moment, the waitress came back with Eliza's coffee. Eliza thanked her, but as she looked up, she saw that there was another man sat at the table of the long nosed businessman. She averted her eyes, for she could not be seen to be looking. She caught snippets of their conversation, but her main focus was on texting Adele.

'Good to see you again.'

'How long has it been?'

'Long enough to make me feel old if we put a number on it.'

Another man's come in. They're chatting.

What does he look like.

-Adele

I can't see his face.

'Is the pest still with us?'

'Sherlock has… conveniently disappeared.'

Try.

-Adele

Okay, they just referred to Sherlock as 'the pest'.

'What do you mean? Will I have to find him and break his arm again?'

And the new one didn't know he was dead.

Eliza, get out of there.

-Adele

'Haven't you seen the news?'

'I live through the network, you know that.'

'Of course I do, I'm used to covering up your tracks.'

New guy just said he lives through something called 'the network', and then the first one said he's used to covering his tracks.

Eliza, if they're talking about Sherlock, they're probably something to do with Moriarty's assassins.

-Adele

I know, that's why I'm still listening.

'Dead? Well well. What's that going to do to our old consultant I wonder?'

'Him too.'

'What, dead, aswell?'

Eliza! I am telling you to get out!

-Adele

I think they're talking about Moriarty.

'Bloody hell. Well, I suppose it leaves the field clear for the rest of us'

'You do remember we're supposed to be against each other?'

'Well of course, but that doesn't mean we can't be civil.'

All of a sudden Eliza realised that there was no money in her pockets. Getting up, she walked to the back of the café, where the silhouette of a woman with no arms accentuated a door. As she went through, she glanced back to the table. Her jaw dropped, but she moved through the door quickly, lest he look up at her. As soon as she was in the bathroom, she gasped.

Saw his face. It's Hammet. As in Headmaster Hammet, our headmaster, Mr Hammet.

How can you be sure? Look again.

-Adele

Well, I can't very well do that now, can I?

What?

-Adele

Ignoring this, Eliza looked about her. She sighed in relief when she found that the windows opened at the top. Was it big enough though? It looked like she could squeeze through. Climbing up onto the sink unit, she prayed that no one would come in. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but at this moment she was far too busy wrenching herself headfirst through the small opening. It wasn't like she was dining and dashing, really. She hadn't touched the coffee.

A small sense of dizziness entered her head as she looked down at the pavement, which was a little further away than she would have wished for. She closed her eyes and hoped upon hope that her feet wouldn't slip. Leaning out over the wall, she reached downwards and raked her hands over the brick, pulling herself down. And suddenly she dropped. The pavement came closer and closer toward her face. She gasped as she wrenched to a halt, her feet catching on the windowsill. Her palms were flat against the pavement, her elbows bent to accommodate her own weight. She swore as both the detector and her phone went flying from her pockets.

She was becoming increasingly lightheaded, blood rushing to her cranium. With all the strength she could muster, she twisted her body and grabbed a hold of the windowsill, dropping her feet from it in the process. She landed on two feet and stood still for a moment so as to cease the torrent of dizziness. Looking around, she saw that she stood in a dirty back alley. Not wanting to stay for more than one reason, she grabbed her phone and the detector from the floor, –and once again ignoring the buzz from the former- she fled.


	21. Chapter 21

Three days.

Back at the Hammersmith school on Monday, Adele was silently chanting to herself. Eliza clearly was getting more and more frustrated, what with Adele zoning out whenever Eliza tried to speak, and when she _did_ get a chance, Adele interrupting her. At lunch on Monday, Adele found herself confronted.

'What's the real reason you weren't here for most of last week?'

'I _told_ you. John was being stupid, because of the roof thing, and – '

'What roof thing? The Sherlock roof thing?'

'No, not the Sherlock roof thing, it was just…'

Shit. Adele had said too much.

'Then what roof thing?'

'Nothing, it doesn't matter anymore.'

'Yes it does.'

'Why? If I said it's not important, it's not important. End of story.'

'That isn't the only deciding factor.'

'Yes, it is.'

'Tell me.'

Eliza was glaring at her now, and Adele didn't really have the energy to argue.

'I sort of found my way onto the roof and… long story short, Lestrade caught me before I could have any fun. And then John got all paranoid.'

Just as Adele finished speaking, Eliza threw her arms around her. For Adele this was quite awkward, considering that hugs weren't really her thing, and that she wasn't particularly used to hugs and such. She sort of pated Eliza on the back, until she let go, to Adele's relief.

'Are we done now?'

Eliza shook her head sadly.

'You don't even care.'

Adele shrugged.

'It was basically last week. Not important, unless it helps solve all this, which it doesn't.'

'You were about to throw yourself off a building…'

'Big deal.'

'Why don't you care?'

'It's not important! If I thought it was important, I wouldn't be here, would I?'

'Is it _boring_ now?'

That was it.

'Yes it bloody well is!'

'Why?'

'Because there are worse things going on in my life to worry about! I'm slightly more concerned with getting out of here!'

And for some reason, that was it for Eliza, too.

'Your life isn't so crap, you know!'

Adele was quite taken aback by this sudden outburst.

'So you have to live with Mrs Daines,' Eliza continued, rising from the short stone wall they both had been sat on.

'So you're a- a social pariah or whatever!' The brunette ranted in frustration, pacing to and fro. 'And, I know, you saw your father figure jump off a building, I get it.'

Adele scoffed. How could she 'get it'? But before she could voice this, Eliza spoke again.

'But that doesn't mean you can just, assume, that you've got it worse than everyone else! You're mean, and you say things that shock people just to see the looks on their faces!' He hands flew outwards around her head at the last.

'And you know the worst part?' Adele looked at her, but the look of fire in Eliza's eyes stalled her words. Eliza half laughed, and continued almost as if she were mocking herself.

'You're, the only person, who's relatively nice to me. I don't care, about the way you talk, the way you act, because you're the only _bloody_ person who even speaks to me. And yes that includes my family.' She was looking at Adele now, almost imploringly. 'You've got people who care about you, people that love you! And all I've got is you.' Her face changed again as she spat out the words bitterly.

'And I don't care that you think you're better than me. You are, you're clever, you're funny, whatever. But don't you _dare_, treat me like I'm some insecure little kid whose biggest thing to worry about is the latest fashion. Because as sarcastic, and clever as you are, you DON'T KNOW ME, Adele Holmes!'

Both girls glared at each other, and then, without warning, Eliza turned on her heel and walked away.

Adele stared after her. Then as she frowned and lowered her eyes slowly to the ground, her brain raged a war with itself.

What the hell was that all about? Alright, so Adele was pretty self-centred, but it wasn't as though she did it deliberately, or just out of spite. Most of the time. And besides, Eliza was annoying basically half the time she was around Adele, and Adele hadn't had a go at _her_. Yes, she had been tempted too, but she hadn't. Which was strange, considering that she would have under normal circumstances. But she hadn't, which made Eliza's outburst much weirder. Adele wanted to go after her, and ask what had happened, but according to books, and the general rules of friendship (or ex – friendship, in this case), that didn't happen. Damn and blast.

Swearing silently to herself, Adele began pacing the small space in which she had been spending these lunch hours. If Eliza was really pissed off about something, Adele was pretty sure that she would have picked it up by now. After all, she usually could.

Or could she? Adele's powers of deduction had been failing her for a while now, but not to this extent. She could still tell who was cheating on who, and vague details from various people's lives. And now she couldn't do any of that. The lack of knowledge was annoying, not to mention headache worthy, which was frustrating, to say the least. Now Adele was straining to find out even the obvious. Well, most people would still be unable to identify it, and probably wouldn't be too worried if they didn't, but for Adele, who couldn't really identify herself as 'most people', missing something was almost scary.

Well, in keeping with her general person policy, Adele decided _not_ to go after Eliza. If Eliza wanted to explain, she could. Although Eliza didn't know it, she had two and a half days, and after that she _hopefully_ wouldn't be hearing from Adele again. So, not the nicest way, but disappearing had always been Adele's speciality. The ability to remove yourself from somewhere at any given point in time was a useful one, and Adele had used it a fair few times before. Some she had vanished completely, for instance when Sergeant Donovan was annoying her, and others she had blended into the background, one step removed from the action. Of course, sometimes this had been against Adele's wishes, and she had only done it because Sherlock didn't want any trouble, and wanted the case over as quickly as possible. Saying this, it hadn't been frequently. Sherlock had loved a case, provided it was interesting enough.

But now she was off topic. And was about to be even more so.

As Adele turned around to pace some more, she saw, in the distance, Mycroft Homes.

What on Earth was Mycroft doing there? He was talking to someone, and clearly didn't want to be seen. His umbrella was in his hand, as per usual, and opposite him stood –

The headmaster.

Adele couldn't get any nearer, in case she was seen, but she couldn't hear anything from where she was. This meant that she would simply have to observe their behaviour, and hope she wasn't spotted.

It was obvious that neither of them wanted to be seen together, and within two minutes, Mycroft had walked off, leaving the headmaster to himself. Adele was so surprised by this that she failed to notice a text coming through on her phone;

_One of them._

_SH_

One of them… One of them knew? Well, one of them knew about the texts, which was the headmaster. Both of them had spoken to Adele fairly recently, and both of them were complete idiots. One of them had known Sherlock very well, and one of them was very powerful, both of those being Mycroft.

_Specify._

_Adele_

Adele didn't have to wait long for an answer;

_One of them knows. I'll let you work it out from there._

_SH_

Urgh. Adele had enough to deal with, but she _did_ want to know. However, she didn't really have enough time. But still, making it difficult for her didn't put this person in Adele's good books. There weren't many people in there anyway.

On Wednesday, whoever this was would be in big trouble.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Hey! It's been a while! I've had a lack of inspiration recently, and then it was the holiday, and I got distracted. I'm sorry. No excuses. But, I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's more of a build up to the next chapter, which shall be much more exciting. And fun. But yeah. Enjoy!**

**I should probably state at this point, seeing as I've forgotten in previous chapters: I don't own Sherlock. I only own Adele, obviously. If I did own Sherlock, series three would be out much sooner than 2013. **

**Enjoy.**

On Tuesday, Adele found herself sitting in the Science classroom, surrounded by what she could only describe as the most unintelligent people she had ever had the misfortune to meet. Except Anderson. But that was beside the point.

'Adele!'

Adele was catapulted back into reality by the annoying teacher. She looked up, and raised her eyebrows.

'What?'

'Don't take that tone with me. You haven't done any work in the past forty five minutes.'

'That's because I know everything.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.'

The teacher stood there for a moment, debating on whether to let Adele get away with it, or to challenge her. She went for challenge.

'Specific Heat Capacity…?'

'Is the amount of energy needed to increase temperature of a substance by one degree. It reflects the capacity of the substance to retain heat. As defined, heat capacity has only a limited application since it is extensive property depends on mass of the substance.'

The teacher looked shocked.

'I could go on, but I really can't be bothered.'

'You're lucky that tomorrow's the last day of term. Otherwise you'd be in detention.'

'Luck is stupid. It doesn't exist in the real world. Idiots just need reassurance. I'm not an idiot. Therefore luck does not exist.'

'Right…'

Adele was aware that she was becoming increasingly short tempered. Last night she had refused to answer any of John's calls, and when she finally had done so, she'd barely said a word, hanging up on him after five minutes. John had then bombarded her with texts, which she hadn't answered. Out of this, however, Adele had managed to get something productive done. Sort of.

One if John's earlier texts had suggested that she draw out her feelings. At first, Adele had dismissed the idea as John being an idiot, but it had stuck in her mind. Of course, Adele's brain had told that this was impossible. You couldn't _draw_ feelings. It just couldn't be done. However, curiosity got the better of her, and since it was never curiosity that killed the cat (stupidity, rather), she had decided to give it a go.

Unfortunately, Adele had too many feelings. Anger was one of them, and this had produced a picture which was worrying, even by her standards. Although she was rather proud of it.

She had taken her old pencils, and sketched a few scenarios. One was Sergeant Donovan and Anderson being eaten by lions. Another was Anderson holding onto the edge of a ledge by the tips of his fingers, over a pool of hungry sharks. Donovan being tortured by an unknown evil genius. Anderson being savaged by a polar bear. Donovan being poisoned. Anderson. Donovan. Anderson. Donovan. After a while, she ran out of ideas, and started doing random little sketches. Unfortunately, they were surprisingly accurate, and Adele was certain that she wouldn't be looking at them again. Sub – consciously, she had managed to draw a perfect picture of Sherlock. Dead. She looked at it for a moment, but instead of tearing it up, as she was tempted to do, Adele coloured it in. Once finished, she was quite impressed with herself. The shading was excellent. Of course, anyone sane would be pretty worried by these pictures, and rightly so. Even Adele want quite sure whether she was quite right in the head.

That night, however, Adele was preoccupied. Her thoughts had turned back to Wednesday. She wasn't really scared, but more curious. Whoever this was had been making an effort both to be seen and not be seen, which was confusing. They also looked remarkably like Sherlock, which was strange. Adele had a feeling that they may have known Sherlock from the past, and therefore knew his style of texting, enabling them to make the charade more annoying for Adele. Although, Adele had a feeling that anyone Sherlock new from the past wouldn't have been a friend. An enemy? But then how would they know his style? Adele knew that she was thinking of insane and stupid ideas in a desperate attempt to convince herself that Sherlock was alive and well, although this was strange, because she _knew_ that it was just her brain being stupid.

This was just annoying.

XxxxxxX

Wednesday. Adele was still puzzled over the Eliza incident, and decided that instead of leaving it, without a chance of explanation, she would force Eliza to talk to her, using whatever means possible. Well, she would obviously have to draw a line at violence, but in this case, words would triumph over actions. Mainly because Adele had an obsession with proving proverbs to be wrong. Stupidity killed the cat. An apple a day only keeps the doctor away if you eat the apple as part of a healthy, balanced diet.

School finished at one o'clock, so Adele had less time than usual. At break, she followed Eliza around for about five minutes, something she was still very good at. Sort of. Adele had tripped over her shoelaces twice, and ended up having to run around a corner or tree to stop Eliza seeing her. The third time, Adele decided that it was hopeless. Eliza was so naïve that she probably wouldn't see her anyway, however much Adele made an arse of herself.

Adele had been pretty bored up until now, so decided to freak Eliza out at the same time. She stood behind her for a full five seconds before tapping Eliza's shoulder. Eliza practically screamed when she turned around.

'Hello.'

'What the hell was that for?'

'I'm bored. And… yeah. Bored.'

'How is that my fault?'

'Well, if you would just explain to me why you said what you said, we can be sort of friends again, and I won't be bored anymore.'

'Adele, the world doesn't revolve around you.'

'Well obviously. It revolves on an axis, around the Sun. But that's not the point.'

'You're so pedantic.'

'Look, what did you mean the other day? About me being all y-'

'It doesn't matter.'

'I didn't ask if it mattered or not, I asked what you meant.'

'Look, Adele, just drop it, okay?'

Adele frowned.

'No! No I will not-'

'Adele! ...I don't, want to talk about it.'

Silence.

'Come on. Let's go run for our lives or something.'

'Not with these shoes. I keep tripping over, it's ridiculous.'

'Tie the laces properly?'

'I have!'

'Then you need new shoes.'

'I like my shoes.'

Adele _did_ need new shoes. The soles were peeling apart, and the toes were scuffed from tripping over during many a chase around London. The laces didn't have aglets anymore, and so the ends were frayed. The shoes were also muddy, and a general mess. But she did like them, and it wasn't worth the effort to get another pair that would end up exactly the same way.

Eliza shrugged. Ha, Adele had won.

At least Adele now had someone to talk to. The continuous silence had been incredibly boring. Then again, Adele had started drifting into her on world, trying to think of possible candidates for the texter. It was pretty much impossible. No one really filled the criteria, not someone she knew, at least. Unless Moriarty was alive, which he wasn't.

Once school had finished, Adele found herself at Scotland Yard. How she had ended up there was a mystery, but she wanted to return the phone tracker to Lestrade, and ask him where exactly he was with Sherlock's case. It occurred to Adele that Lestrade had only re – opened it to give himself something to do. The criminal classes had been quite inactive lately, which was slightly disconcerting. Still, it gave Adele something to do as well, even though the texter had distracted her slightly.

Even if the criminal classes _did_ start doing something, Adele would hardly be able to do much. Lestrade would probably have a go at working it out for himself, which would result in months of watching him give press conferences, and Adele knowing exactly what was going on. Lestrade would only ask for help if he was _really_ stuck. You can get away with asking the great Sherlock Holmes, but if you ask a child, and they work it all out, you look like an idiot. And Adele would never let Lestrade claim that he'd done it himself. Also, Adele had normally been preoccupied when at crime scenes with Sherlock and John, and had therefore kept the insults to a minimum. That clearly wouldn't be on the agenda now. And Donovan would kill Adele if she threw anymore stones at her. Which would probably end up happening at some point.

Scotland Yard was quiet, which was strange. Then again, it proved Adele's point. Nothing was happening. Well, nothing of particular interest. Lestrade was in his office, reading something or other. Maybe something _had_ happened, and Adele had missed it. Or Lestrade was working on something from ages ago, and was having trouble. The latter was more likely.

'So he's let you out?' Adele decided that from this point forwards, she would class Lestrade as a borderline idiot.

'Very funny. Actually, I have time to kill, and I need to give this back to you.'

She handed back the phone tracker.

'Thanks. What did you need it for?'

'Stuff. What's that?' Adele gestured towards the thing Lestrade had been reading.

'The report? Just something that came up the other day.'

'Give it.'

Lestrade passed it over, reluctantly.

'He's been out of the country for two weeks, you won't get him now.'

That shocked him. Possibly more than borderline idiot, then.

'How do you know?'

'Not telling. You need to start working things out for yourself, you know.'

'Is there anything else?'

'Yeah, funnily enough. Have you actually got anything out of Sherlock's case?'

'Well not yet, but its early days.'

'It's been weeks.'

'You haven't done much either.'

'I've been stranded in Hammersmith, there isn't a lot I _can_ do.'

Lestrade didn't seem to have an argument for that. So much for killing time. Adele left Scotland Yard slightly less bored than before, but still dissatisfied. Baker Street was her next stop. At least John provided some interesting conversation.

The first thing Adele noticed when she got to the flat was that the table had been cleared up. Finally.

'You know he would _kill_ you if he were here?'

'Well, this place needs to look a bit more…'

'Friendly? Never going to happen. Although I'm glad you did that, because if he decides to haunt one of us, he'll choose you.'

'That's a nice thought.'

'I'm full of them today.'

'I can tell.'

Adele glared at John. Sarcasm was only fun when it was her using it.

'Although haunting isn't really his style.'

'Never thought it was.'

Then Adele remembered.

'You didn't give me back my gun.'

'Didn't I?'

'Don't pretend you can't remember. Can I have it back?'

John raised his eyebrows.

'What if I say no?'

'I'll find it. I know exactly where it is.'

'Go and get it then.'

Adele returned to the living room ten seconds later. As she had suspected, the gun was in the pocket of a coat Adele had never worn.

'You need better hiding places.'

'You need to be less observant.'

'No way. Being observant is useful.'

John left it at that. Adele could see that he didn't want a list of reasons.

'Chess?'

Playing chess would work well. One, She could annoy John by beating him within about ten minutes, and two, Adele could distract herself from the ever nearing time of five thirty.

Numerous chess games later, Adele pretended that she was going back to Scotland Yard to see Lestrade. Thankfully, John didn't seem too suspicious. Well, it _was _John.

**Thanks for the reviews and stuff; I siriusly appreciate it! And there are some people I want to thank, before I take a few days without writing, and keep you lot waiting. I'm evil like that.**

**C'estMoiLiz: READ HER STUFF! It's sososososo good! I mean it!**

**IngridNixie: Also READ! She writes the Eliza chapters, because she's developed an emotional attachment.**

**See you soon! I've had the next chapter under construction for some time, and half of it has been written in various RE lessons; However, it has A LOT of editing to go through, given it's importance. So: .Later. :)**


	23. Chapter 23

John hadn't questioned Adele leaving. He was probably used to it, considering that she had been acting pretty weird lately. He had looked pleased that the chess game was over; Ten wins had made Adele very smug, and he had accused her of cheating several times. Out of those, he had been right about twice. But the game was boring without a bit of cheating, and Sherlock had never minded. Then again, he was the one who had been cheating in the first place.

St Bart's chapel was deserted. Or at least the outside was. Well, it appeared deserted. You could never be sure. Adele was getting increasingly paranoid. She was half – tempted to go back to Baker Street, but that would be classed as giving up. One thing she would never allow herself to do.

Glancing up at the sky, she saw nothing. No snipers. Although it would make things a teeny bit more interesting.

She hesitated. As much as she hated to admit it, Adele _was_ slightly scared. Whoever was waiting would most likely have a gun, and whilst she had dealt with people like that before, she had either weakened them before they had a chance to attack, or known what she was walking into.

There was no one else around, which was probably why whoever this was had chosen this place at this time. No interference. Adele would normally be pleased about this, but this stranger might be out to kill her, and she wouldn't mind someone to help stop it. Adele had considered calling Lestrade, but this was the sort of thing she did alone.

Adele unbuttoned her blazer, to ensure easy access to her gun. This meant that the edges of the blazer flapped around when she walked, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Huh. First and last time she would say _that_.

Adele took out her phone, only to be disappointed. She had been hoping for a text from the stranger, as so for a hint of what she would be dealing with. But there was nothing.

Adele glanced at her watch. Five twenty nine _exactly_. Or thereabouts. The watch was analogue, so telling the exact time was pretty much impossible.

She was stalling now. Usually, she would jump straight in, get it over with. This time, however, she was actually considering her actions, wondering which ones would do what. Stay here, wait for the stranger? Presumably they were already in there. Maybe, if she wasn't there after a certain amount of time, they would come and find her? But they were mainly doing this for her benefit, not theirs. Although they obviously got a kick out of it.

Get it over with.

Adele pushed open the doors of the chapel.

She knew it was them the moment she walked through the doorway. One, he was the only person there. Two, he was the spitting image of the person Adele had chased through the school corridor not long ago. Long coat, curly dark hair. Tall.

The strangers back was turned, prompting Adele to take out her gun. The silence was almost awkward, as the rubber soles of Adele's battered converse hit the stone floor. She could hear the familiar noise of a text being composed, quickly. iPhone. Like new. Owner familiar with the thing and not interested in the material worth, rather that it was a good phone with a fair battery life. Used frequently. Taken care of. Never lost. Or rarely. Settings never changed. Not personalised.

Sure enough, Adele's phone went off. Sherlock's number;

_Do you really want to know?_

_SH_

They were still standing there, waiting for a reply. Adele tried to type with a vague sense of calm, but her fingers slipped on some of the keys, and her hands were shaking. For all her _I'm not a child_ act, she wasn't presenting a particularly calm front.

_What do you think?_

_Adele_

_I think you need to debate all the options and then decide what's best for you._

_SH_

Oh, so they were playing _that_ game. So be it.

_I have a gun pointed at the back of your head. Turn around, or I'll shoot you in cold blood._

_No pressure._

_Adele_

That stunned them. They deliberated turning around for a moment, toe of their shoe poised on the stone floor. They then replaced it next to the other.

_You wouldn't._

_SH_

Adele clicked the safety feature off.

_Wouldn't I?_

_Adele_

They didn't appear to have a gun, or at least not one in their hands. So Adele was in power. Excellent.

Up until this point, whatever Adele had implied, the gun had been pointed at the floor. Now, she raised it to the centre of the stranger's head, two hands to steady it.

_Not when you know who I am._

_SH_

Now they were just being annoying.

'Then turn around, and let me decide for myself.'

Adele didn't know what had prompted her to speak. Her voice was strangely cold.

After a minute of simply standing there, the stranger turned around, slowly and deliberately.

Holy shit.

Sherlock.

Just standing there.

As though nothing was wrong.

And as if this was all perfectly normal.

Without thinking, Adele dropped the gun (it was quite likely that she would accidently pull the trigger), walked up to Sherlock, and grinned at him.

And then, without warning, Adele slammed her fist into the side of his face.

He stumbled, clearly in pain. He deserved it.

'That felt good.'

Adele was actually also in pain. Sherlock seemed to have a face made of stone. First and last time she was ever punching him.

'What was that for?'

He actually sounded surprised. Idiot.

'Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that you've half – traumatized John and I, I've had to _co-operate_ with Lestrade, I've actually spoken to Donovan, and been forced to spend weeks in living hell. You deserved that punch, Sherlock Holmes.'

'I thought you'd be pleased to see me. Isn't that the point?'

Adele let out a hollow laugh.

'The _point_? The point of what?'

'Well, the point of me being here.'

'No. No. You see, if I was _pleased_ to see you, you wouldn't have been punched in the face, and I'm pretty sure we wouldn't be having this conversation.'

'But – '

'And this is quite soon, how do you know that he doesn't know that you're not actually dead?'

'Taken out most of his web.'

'Most. And you could've told me. You texted him, and waited ages throwing that stupid thing at the wall before you went. You _could've_ said something.'

'Yes, but – '

'And are you coming back to Baker Street or not?'

'That was the plan.'

'You think no one will recognise you?'

'I've been chancing it in public for two weeks; I think we'll be alright.'

'And I don't have money for a cab.'

'I do.'

'Where from?'

'Very inquisitive.'

'Oh, deduce something from _that_.'

Bad idea.

'You want to know more, you're slightly scared, worried, am I an imposter, I'm not, for the record, but you're still worried, which is normal, I would be, if I were you. Now, I've been observing you for a while, but I'll work from what I've seen today; You still bite your nails, it's a habit, but you were close to quitting a few weeks ago, while we were chasing down Moriarty, although you forgot after I jumped, it's a sensitive subject, you flinch every time I mention it, every time it's mentioned by anyone, so I'll stop now. You were worried that I would be a gunman, don't know why, but that's children, the way you were texting indicates that you still use sarcasm as a security, it works, throws people off guard, caught me for a moment, but I knew you wouldn't do it, not because you don't or didn't want to, more because you can't, you won't let yourself, I don't know why, you probably don't either, in fact it probably hasn't crossed your mind. You hit me because you didn't know what else to do, hugs aren't really your thing, which is good, because I don't think it would suit the occasion. Now put the gun away and let's go and scare John.'

'Scare John. Right. Good plan.'

'And now you're fazed and can't string a sentence together.'

'Thanks, but I – '

'But nothing, I have a surprise for you!'

'Oh dear God. Is it better than this one?'

'Well, not better, but I think that both you and John will appreciate it. It's been a pressing issue for some time.'

'There are a lot of those.'

'Yes, but this is a _real_ issue!'

Was it just Adele, or were his eyes sparkling? This surprise better be as good as he made it out to be.

'To Baker Street!'


	24. Chapter 24

**This one took a tiny bit longer because I've had an awful lot of exams and revision to do. Sorry! Plus, I got caught up watching '**_**Third Star**_**'. Let's say no more, but OHMYCROFT. Also, I've been drowned in exams and such, so yeah. I'm sorry, no excuses. Enjoy.**

'So, when are you going to tell me how you're not dead?'

'I'll save it for later.'

'Or you could tell me now.'

'But I'd prefer to tell you later.'

'Going to make it dramatic?'

Sherlock frowned. Currently, Adele decided that she had every right to be as rude as she liked.

'That's a yes. Oh well, should be fun.'

Sherlock chuckled, grinning. He clearly found this funny, and whilst it probably was, Adele didn't like being laughed at.

'And John?'

'What do you mean, _and John_?'

'How's John?'

'John is John. I'll leave you to your deductions.'

'And you?'

Adele glanced at him.

'Again, deductions.'

'I thought I'd hear it directly from the source, actually.'

'You'll just tell me I'm wrong and do one of your fast talking monologues again.'

'Well – '

'I'm fine.'

'No, you're not.'

'This is exactly – '

'But I've already given you my opinions. Your go.'

Adele looked at him. There wasn't much difference, except the bruise that was slowly forming on Sherlock's left cheek. Still wearing his coat, scarf, and stupid suit. He was impossible to analyse. Adele had never been able to work out anything just by looking at him, which wasn't a surprise.

'Nothing.'

'Nothing?'

'You heard me.'

'Yes but – '

'I can't deduce anything anymore.'

'I'll fix that.'

Adele rolled her eyes.

'You can't just _fix_ a lack of ability to deduce. You should know that.'

'Nonsense.'

'_Complete_ sense.'

'You don't think _complete sense_.'

'Well, since you rendered me helpless and stranded around normal people, I've had to adapt.'

This was, of course, slightly untrue. Adele hadn't adapted to the thinking style of _normal _people, but had instead just lost everything. Which, in a way, made her almost like a normal person, what with the lack of deduction and such. Still, Adele regretted it as soon as she said it. Sherlock looked hurt now.

'I didn't mean – '

'No, you did mean it.'

'I didn't, I – '

'You have every right to mean it.'

'Are we really having this argument?'

'Maybe.'

'Could all be a parallel universe.'

'Sounds interesting.'

'It is.'

Adele was pretty pleased now. At least she could talk to Sherlock normally. There was a nagging feeling at the back of her head, telling her to demand that he tell her how he wasn't dead, but Adele wasn't in the space to question it.

'Just like the good old days.'

That was weird. Sherlock didn't talk about _the good old days_. He just didn't.

'You don't reminisce.'

'Trying something new.'

'I think being off cases has messed you up a bit.'

'Then we'd better inform Lestrade of my survival and get back to work, hadn't we?'

Adele allowed herself a small chuckle. She's missed it, definitely.

'Just here.'

And now they were at Baker Street. Climbing out of the cab, Adele turned to face Sherlock.

'So, how do we inform him?'

'I'll just walk in.'

Adele frowned.

'That's boring.'

Sherlock grinned mischievously.

'Not when we see the look on his face.'

'Alright then. You go in behind me, and act like this is a normal everyday occurrence.'

'Normal?'

'Normal. Do you understand the concept?'

Adele grinned as Sherlock frowned, clearly confused.

'And for the sake of the nonexistent God, _don't_ be tactless.'

'Me? Tactless?'

'Yeah. You want a list? Molly, every grieving person you've interviewed, even John several times…'

Sherlock obviously hadn't noticed this before. Sighing, Adele opened the door, and ran up the stairs, two at a time.

'John!'

John, apparently anticipating something stupid, replied;

'What? Who've you annoyed this time?'

'Erm – '

'Hello, John!'

Sherlock had followed Adele into the flat, and stood there, grinning. John just stood there, in a state of shock.

'What are you... I thought... What?'

'He's risen from the dead or something. He won't tell me. Have fun trying.'

Adele threw Sherlock an old newspaper.

'You realise that some of the papers reported on your death?'

'People forget easily.'

'It was front page news.'

'There's been other front page news since.'

'True.'

'How long have you...?'

John. Adele had momentarily forgotten about him.

'Oh, he just came out of nowhere.'

'So since…?'

'About half an hour, but I've had a suspicion for a few days. Although it was technically impossible. So half an hour.'

John gestured to Sherlock, who was going through the bookcase like a mad man.

'You planned all this?'

Sherlock glanced at John, and then, still searching the bookcase, he answered;

'Well, shot in the dark. Worked quite well, actually.'

'Are you going to tell us…?'

'No. And I would appreciate if you kept this _off_ your blog, for a while. Can't guarantee anything.'

'Can't guarantee… And why are you searching the bookcase?'

'Can't be too sure… Mrs Hudson!'

'NO!' John and Adele roared in unison.

'Yes, dear?'

'Nothing, don't come upstairs!' Yelled Adele, shooting a furious look at Sherlock.

Once she was sure Mrs Hudson wouldn't come upstairs and see Sherlock, Adele shut the door.

'How stupid are you?'

'What?'

Sherlock actually looked confused. Adele had almost forgotten how clueless he could be to the way the normal or average human mind worked.

'She doesn't know that you're dead, maybe?

'Oh. We could tell her.'

John sighed.

'I don't think her coming up here and seeing you going through the bookcase is the right way to tell her, somehow.'

'John! But it's fun!'

'Fun? She'll faint!'

Adele wondered into the kitchen. It occurred to her that annoying John and Sherlock was something she hadn't done for a while, and she _had _missed it.

'You two have your lovers tiff, I'm bored!'

Sherlock and John stopped talking.

'Lovers tiff?'

Adele went back into the living room. She stood in front of them, arms crossed.

'Hug.'

Sherlock and John looked confused now. Ha.

'Hug?'

'Yes, hug, didn't you understand?'

'I don't understand half the stuff you say, but – '

'Hug. Now.'

Giving up, Sherlock and John grimaced (Adele would have preferred a grin, but you can't have everything), and hugged.

'Er… John?'

John and Sherlock broke apart, both visibly embarrassed.

'Right... Erm… Yes...'

'Good to see you!'

John regained his dignity, to the extent of which he could, and frowned at Sherlock.

'Why d'you have a massive bruise on the side of your face?'

'What?'

Adele had forgotten about the punch. Sherlock checked his face in the mirror, frowning.

'Adele!'

'Who knows? Maybe it could have been JUMPING OFF A BUILDING?'

'Yeah, I um, what? How, even...?' John _again_. As much as Adele was friends with him, he could be incredibly annoying.

'I can't explain right now.'

'Wait, wait. You're um, you're alive, that's great, but... why didn't you tell us this sooner?'

'It's sort of hard to explain right now... And quite complicated...'

Adele raised her eyebrows.

'Dumb it down, then.'

'Big people, scary guns, if I don't 'jump', they shoot you. Is that okay?'

'Not THAT much, you idiot'

'I'm not an idiot'

'Yes you are.'

'I was protecting you!' He turned to look at John, sincerely. 'Both of you.'

John looked pretty conflicted, but touched all the same. Meh, it was John.

Adele looked between each of them, deliberated, and then spoke.

'Gah! You two and your bloody sexual tension!'

She began to walk off to her room, secretly pleased. This would definitely annoy them both.

'Adele!'

'Stop with these loosely founded accusations!'

Both John and Sherlock spoke at the same time, both clearly trying to discourage her from suggesting anything to harm either of their reputations.

'They _are_ loosely founded, aren't they? I'm making terrible assumptions regarding your feelings toward each other! I mean, just because you hugged for the better part of half an hour doesn't mean... well. It doesn't mean _anything_, does it?'

Adele grinned and walked off. Once in her room, she left the door ajar, as so to hear Sherlock and John's reactions. This would be interesting .

'She has mentioned this before…'

'What? When?'

'About a week and a half ago, when she told me about someone. A John to a Sherlock, minus the romantic undertones...'

Sherlock reacted well, Adele thought.

'Oh for God's sake! Adele!'

Adele laughed. Only these two made such a fuss about stuff like this.

'It's not funny!'

'It is! And you know it! Because your Sherlock Holmes, and you know EVERYTHING! Or so I've heard!'

Adele went back into the living room. She was certainly doing a lot of going backwards and forwards today.

As she walked in, she heard Sherlock say; 'Oh, and the bruise. That was Adele'

She smiled sweetly, putting on the best front of innocence she possibly could. Innocence had never, however, been Adele's strong point.

'It was an accident'

'Yeah, of course it was.'


	25. Chapter 25

**So, my readers. I have made a decision. New Beginnings has several problems: 1) Cheesy title. 2) It's going to get ridiculously long. 3) If it gets ridiculously long, my USB will EXPLODE. **

**My decision. SEQUEL. I'll provide a link at the end of this chapter, and stuff. Sequel will be up pretty soon, I've written a lot of it already. **

**So, here's a prequel of sorts to the sequel of sorts. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for being AMAZING and stuff. Siriusly, I'm REALLY grateful. I used to think that my writing was absolutely crap, and now I don't. Yeah. You guys are AWESOME. **

**ENJOY. **

Adele didn't really know how to feel about Sherlock's return. One the one hand, she was pleased that he wasn't dead, but on the other hand, he had technically lied to her. And Adele hated people lying to her. Admittedly, she would make exceptions for Sherlock and John, but it still made it difficult to trust him.

Sherlock had still only told Adele and John, so he couldn't leave the flat. If Mrs Hudson saw him, she'd probably faint, and if Lestrade saw him, he'd be shot outright. Adele had a feeling that Lestrade wouldn't take too kindly to Sherlock 'haunting' him. Although it would be rather funny.

Sherlock was slowly going mad, cooped up in Baker Street. He couldn't shoot the wall (which would probably disintegrate), he couldn't yell at anyone, or anything, and experiments were out of the question. Only two days after his return, the flat was quiet and depressing. John left occasionally, and Sherlock spent a lot of time on his laptop, looking at the news. He'd also taken to highlighting the newspaper, which was weird. He hadn't enjoyed being away, apparently, although the chance to follow, or in Adele's eyes spy on Adele was interesting. Adele wasn't sure exactly what he'd discovered, but she also didn't particularly care.

Because John hadn't been able to write on his blog, there were no clients. Adele had tried asking Sherlock where he'd been staying, but he wouldn't tell her. Therefore, Adele decided to annoy him as much as possible, and constantly ask him about whether he'd been with Irene Adler. That hadn't gone down well. Another frequent remedy to the boredom was basically Sherlock and Adele trying to out – insult each other, which was not only highly amusing in itself, but also annoyed John. Most times, this ended in a tie, and John about to throw something at the pair of them. Chess was another option, but each game lasted a good couple of hours, as neither Sherlock nor Adele was able to beat the other. Both came close, and several pieces were stolen in a desperate attempt to actually finish the game.

Adele was enjoying annoying Sherlock again. One way to do this was to call him Lockie. He scowled every time she did so, but it was funny, and even John laughed at bit (although once Sherlock scowled at him, he shut up). Sherlock had in turn decided to call her Addie. John probably also found this funny, but, for some reason, he didn't laugh when Sherlock said it. Maybe he was more scared of Adele. Admittedly, he probably was. Adele generally thought of herself as quite a scary person.

On the third day after Sherlock's return, after John had gone somewhere with a girl (it wouldn't last. As per usual), Sherlock was sitting on the floor looking at the paper, and Adele was reading. He looked up suddenly.

'What?' Adele asked, hint of annoyance in her voice.

'Good, to see you, Addie.'

Adele grinned at him;

'Good to see you too, Lockie.'


	26. Chapter 26

.net/s/8084812/1/The_bAdventure_b_of_the_bEmpty_b_bHouse_b

HERE IS THE LINK TO THE SEQUEL!

ENJOY! AND YEAH!


	27. Chapter 27

I MIGHT HAVE ALSO WRITTEN A THIRD ONE.

Which is much better than the second, which was the _awkward filler where nothing happened_.

I'm really proud of this one, so take a look. Reviews appreciated, as per.

ENJOY!

.net/s/8143375/1/bRiddle_b_bMe_b_This


	28. Chapter 28

A sequel exists! Well, it's the third one, but I did a rubbish job on the second.

STUFF HAPPENS.

Link: s/8143375/1/Riddle_Me_This


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